Something to Live For
by Grey Silver Hawk
Summary: Harry sacrificed everything to kill the Dark Lord. He sacrificed more to kill the next one. And the next. And the next. By the end, he had nothing left to give, and nothing left to win. Burdened by failure, he's thrown into a new world with familiar faces and unfamiliar personalities, and must fight to survive. AU, Dimension Travel, Graphic Violence.
1. Violent Ends

**Author's Note**

**This is a dark AU with dimensional travel, containing graphic violence, scenes of intense trauma and sexual situations. If this isn't your bag, get out now. **

**Diverges from Canon at the end of 5th year.**

**Revised as of 5/15/2019. Special thanks to my Betas, AussieClaire, shaqb4, and Ceadeus for all their help. Hopefully I will bring the whole story up to a decent standard.**

Harry lay on his side in a ditch, the gritty dirt sticking to the blood soaked into his robe. How much of it was his was impossible to say. He tried to control his breathing, straining his magical senses. The ditch only provided slight protection, and he needed to move. Soon.

They were grouped up close to each other, so it was hard to the determine exact number, but there were two clusters, one 15 feet dead ahead and a smaller one just 8 feet away at 4 o'clock.

Breath in.

They weren't pressing him, which meant they had called for reinforcements. Anti-apparition and portkey wards were up, and he didn't have the time to break through them. His only way out was straight through.

Breath out.

He pressed his wand into the ground, silently weaving a spell into the loose soil. It wouldn't last long, but he only needed a second.

The ground came alive a heartbeat later, earthen hands shooting out of the earth to grab at his hunters. Harry rolled out of the ditch and shot to his feet, eyes glued on the closest knot of enemies. There were three of them, clad in dark robes and white masks, behind some sparse cover. They were pointing their wands at the ground, trying to destroy the hands gripping their hems.

One of them, shorter than the rest, spotted him despite the darkness and raised their wand.

They were far too slow. Harry hit the Death Eater with a sickly red spell, and the figure doubled over. Harry ran, ignoring the flaring pain in his side as the other death eaters notices their comrade's plight. Suddenly, he exploded in a mess of boiling blood, and the others shrieked as they realized what was coating them.

Using their distraction, Harry cast two blasting hexes straight at their centers of mass. They were reduced to red pulp in seconds. 3 down, 4 to go.

But before he could turn his attention to them, he noticed a shimmer out of the corner of his eye. Only his seeker reflexes, honed over years of battle, allowed him to bend backwards as the dark spell hurdled towards him. It still clipped his shoulder, blinding him with agony. His basilisk armor absorbed the worst of it, but it still shattered bone and ruptured flesh.

He swept his wand in a tight arc, and a shockwave rippled forward. The Death Eater hidden by an invisibility charm was knocked off balance and his second spell going wide. Harry shoved his wand forward, his mind screaming '_Argentum lancea!'_ conjuring a bright silver spell that flashed through the Death Eaters chest with a spray of blood and bone, killing him instantly.

But he had given his fellows time to regroup, and for more of them to arrive. The Death Eaters advanced in staggered formation, firing killing curses and dark hexes wildly. He felt more magic coming from up the field, so he sprinted in the opposite direction. He could make out a building, hidden in a small thicket of trees about 100 yards away.

Harry bobbed and weaved as the spells flashed around him, a few of the killing curses passing close enough for him to feel the sinking stillness. He cast blasting curses over his shoulder, but they were gaining.

He needed to clear them off if he was going to get to cover.

40 yards from the building, which appeared to be an abandoned cottage, Harry whispered "Parva Sole," He thrust his wand up, and a bright sphere sailed into the air.

Under normal circumstances, Harry would have magically shielded his eyes, but he didn't have time or power to spare. Instead, he screwed them shut and tilted his head down.

Exactly three seconds after being cast, the orb detonated into a blinding miniature sun. Harry could see the light even through his closed lids and felt the heat on the back of his neck. Several of the Death Eaters screamed as their eyes were seared, and he felt them fall to the ground. Even blind, they kept casting wildly, but finally Harry made it to the cabin.

He leaped, crashing through the cobwebs in the empty windowsill, and landed heavily on the dusty floorboards.

His shoulder sent a spike of agony at the rough treatment, but Harry pushed the feeling down. He peeked through a small gap in the cottage's wall, and watched as the Death Eaters scrambled back, several limping or crawling. _Suffer, you bastards. _Harry thought viciously.

His glee was dampened when he spotted more dark clad figures taking up defensive positions further up the field, and more were streaming in from all sides.

Harry pulled back, not wanting to see. It was pointless, anyway. He was outnumbered, wounded and penned in. This would be his last battle. Shame. He'd always loved the sunrise, and now he'd never see another.

**oooOOOooo**

"These violent delights have violent ends."

Harry would vehemently deny that any part of his life had been a delight, but he was a creature of violence and death at the end of things. He had claimed his first life before he could walk, killed again at 11, took down the basilisk that would become his armor when he was 12. As he grew, his body count grew with him.

Dumbledore hadn't seen it like that, of course. He had wanted so badly for Harry to be some sort of savior, a warrior of light leading a righteous battle against darkness. Harry had wanted that too, and managed to convince himself he wasn't a monster, a reaper in human flesh.

That dream had died at the end of his fifth year, when he had confidently marched his friends into a trap and gotten his godfather, the person who believed in him and offered him hope for a better life, killed in the process.

He could have stayed at the Dursleys, slipping into deep depression and stewing over his inadequacies, but he found a solution: action. Specifically, the violent murder of everyone with a Dark Mark he could find, and a few others besides.

He'd slipped his Order babysitters and gone hunting for Death Eaters. He found that despite his lack of formal combat training, killing came just as naturally to him as flying did. His rage eventually cooled, and in the crucible of near constant battle, his power grew. By the end of the summer, he had stripped away all that he once was in favor of turning himself into a brutal weapon.

The Order and his friends had been appalled and tried to convince him to abandon all he'd learned and pretend that this war wasn't resting solely on his shoulders. But as bodies piled up in the streets and Harry was the only one to make any headway against Voldemort's forces, the complaints fell away. Harry spent all his time at Hogwarts learning as much as he could. Wards, enchantments, potions, even mind arts were his curriculum, and the DA morphed into a true army under his command. The Ministry tried to recruit him, but Harry spurned them, blaming them for not taking action sooner, and generally being more concerned with appearing to battle the dark forces than actually stopping them.

The war developed naturally, with the Ministry falling and Voldemort creating a new, pureblood, government. Dumbledore kept Hogwarts as the last beacon of light, while Harry and his friends bloodied themselves outside the walls. The Order lost many, but the biggest blow came when Albus died at the hands of a mind controlled student. Then, Voldemort attacked the school in what became known as the First Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry lead the teachers, the Order and any students willing to fight out to the gates to meet the Dark army head on. The battle was fierce, claiming Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin, Bill, Fred and Arthur Weasley, just to name a few. Ron Weasley lost an eye, Luna Lovegood three fingers, and most of the Order's remaining adult fighters were killed or seriously injured.

But amidst the smoke and bloody haze of battle, Harry stood against Voldemort. The younger man was magically outclassed, but he was vicious and fought without thought for his own life, and in the end, it was just barely enough. He left the murderer of his parents a charred husk on the field.

It should have been his crowning achievement, something to tell his grandchildren about as he basked in eternal victory.

Thinking they had already won, the light rested on their laurels and let the enemy regroup.

Death Eaters still controlled the government and had no plans of quietly laying down their wands, and to make matters worse most of Voldemort's inner circle survived. Bellatrix Lestrange took up her master's torch, vowing to continue the war no matter the cost. And so, victory slipped out of Harry's hand.

It took a year for Harry to track the Dark Lady down and kill her, but it didn't matter. Lucius Malfoy took the mantle next and spent the next few years slowly wearing down the Order, before he launched the second attack on Hogwarts. Bled dry by a war of attrition, the light crumbled, and the school was lost along with nearly two thirds of their number.

Harry again isolated the enemy leader and slew him, but it was pyrrhic. Without their base, the remaining fighters were hounded at every turn. Draco Malfoy took his father's place, and for the fourth time, Harry hunted and killed the Dark Lord, only for another to take his place.

Harry James Potter was 27, and he was the last person fighting the war. Even he had admitted to himself that his cause was hopeless. But he had nothing else. All his friends had died over the years, and the surviving Order members fled the country years ago. Harry had begun a campaign against the newest Dark Lord, Augustus Rookwood, but the savvy bastard had hidden himself away and sent out hordes of Death Eaters to hunt him down.

This was how he came to the field. Harry had interrogated a Death Eater, who revealed a new secret base where Rookwood was hiding. It had been a trap, the noose finally slamming shut. Harry was a skilled hand at entrapping his enemies and had no illusions that he could escape this turnabout.

The end was nigh, but Harry had no intention of going to the next great adventure quietly or peacefully.

**oooOOOooo**

Harry watched out of the crack in the cottage wall as more dark figures slid out around the field. A firm count was impossible with the darkness, but at least a hundred were milling around the little cottage.

He was waiting for them to attack, to swarm against him so he could die bathing in blood. Maybe Rookwood would stick his head out so Harry could cut it off, but he doubted the man would be so reckless.

Harry reached down into the bottomless bag tied to his thigh and fished out a small unbreakable vial with a silver liquid sloshing around. Harry had found it in his studies years ago, bearing the unassuming name 'Petrove's Decoction'. It gave an instant surge of strength, magical and physical, and deadened sensation. Petrove was able to fight on despite being cut in half, and only died when a German Hit Wizard vaporized his head.

Of course, later examinations and tests of the potion showed that it was fatal anyway, but it would give Harry one hell of a final push. Now, all that was left was for them to make their move.

He pondered what his legacy would be. In England, he'd been so thoroughly demonized that news of his death would result in mass celebrations. But abroad, perhaps he'd be remembered more fondly, as someone who fought endlessly for what he believed in, even if it ended in tragedy. Perhaps those surviving allies would raise a glass in his memory.

_Oh, who am I kidding? The epitaph will be 'Harry Potter, damned fool who threw his life away for nothing and couldn't win a war to save his soul'_ he thought to himself with a wry smirk.

Maybeaybe in the afterlife he'd be reunited with his friends and family, and that was a comforting thought. And even if he didn't, he was exhausted. Worn down to the bone. An eternity of nothingness would be bliss in comparison to all he had experienced.

He unscrewed the cap and held it ready near his mouth. The Death Eaters outside had gone oddly still, holding well out of spell range.

Then, he felt a strange buzz of magic shudder around him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he cast his eyes around. Above him, golden threads of energy swirled into a dome. Harry's eyes went wide.

He swiftly replaced the decoction into his bag and went outside. The Death Eaters were all pointing their wands at the sky, and the magic barrier was nearly complete. They must have set it in advance, knowing he would go to the only cover available when outnumbered. It was a powerful containment spell, and once in place it would be unbreakable, even by him. If they finished, they could kill him in any number of ways, all at no risk to themselves.

Rage nearly blinded him. These bastards had taken so much, now they sought to deny him even an honorable death!

"Spineless cowards," he growled, raising his wand. He couldn't stop the spell's progress, but he could certainly throw a wrench in their plans.

Hermione would have used some obscure arcane chant to try and reverse the spell, and Ron would have charged the Death Eaters, a war cry on his lips.

But neither of those approaches would result in the most fatalities: that would be to pour raw magical power into the ritual. This would cause an overload of the spell matrix, which would collapse, releasing its energy in an explosion equivalent to a small nuclear bomb.

So obviously that's what Harry did.

His wand emitted a huge column of green magic, streaking up and hitting the delicate gold threads, engorging them.

Harry tapped directly into his magically core, expanding his life force in one last 'fuck you' to the forces of Darkness, and smiled. They would see this explosion miles away.

The Death Eaters panicked, trying to stymie him by pulling their magic back and making vain attempts to stabilize the ritual. But the magic dome glowed ever brighter, and collapse was imminent. Harry felt rather than saw several Death Eaters launching killing curses at him.

It didn't matter.

Just as the first sickly green orb struck him, the golden threads snapped, sending shockwaves precipitating the explosion that struck a millisecond later, obliterating 3 square miles of fields in a single deafening instant.

**oooOOOooo**

Sunlight was trying to break through Harry's closed eyelids, and there was a bird shrilly singing nearby. Harry grumbled and tried to roll over, only for pain to shoot through his body at the movement, forcing his eyes open.

He was lying on his back, looking up at a blue sky with only a few wispy clouds. Panic surged through his body.

Out in the middle of an open space, no defenses or barrier, he was a sitting duck!

Harry tried to sit up, but his body simply refused to move. Now, the panic nearly overwhelmed him. He tried to steady himself and painfully slowly twisted his head, looking for the Death Eaters that were surely bearing down on him.

What he saw confused him: a simple field, somewhat overgrown, and a cottage in a state of disrepair. A small thicket of trees, from which that damn birdsong was coming from. Other than that it, was completely empty and peaceful. Something was niggling at the back of Harry's mind, and he tried to remember how he came to be here.

After a few foggy moments, the events of the night came rushing back to him. The Death Eater trap, the running battle, the ritual he had sabotaged. The explosion should have leveled this entire area, but it seemed exactly the same as when he had arrived.

Was he dead?

He had not expected death to be so painful, in that case. His shoulder was throbbing with agony where it touched his armor, at least three broken ribs, with four more cracked, and what the hell did he do to his right hand? With a few painful movements and a downright alarming clicking noise from his neck, Harry managed to get a look. The skin was blackened and flaking off, and several fingers were bent at odd angles.

_My wand must have exploded._ He realized numbly. His holly and phoenix feather, his first entry into the world of magic, reduced to splinters.

Tears came unbidden to his eyes, but he blinked them away. He had lost so much, what was this in comparison? He had a spare wand. But he needed to move to grab it and currently, that wasn't happening.

He knew he wasn't under a spell as he felt no foreign magic. Actually, come to think of it, he didn't feel any magic at all.

Harry closed his eyes and pulled his mind into a meditative state Albus had taught him a lifetime ago and looked inward at his magical core. Normally, it was like a bonfire the same green as his eyes, roaring blindingly bright.

Now, it was a flickering ember, dim and weak against a black expanse. Harry's eyes shot open.

_Oh right. I tapped it directly to overload the containment spell. Of course it's nearly empty_. Harry thought sarcastically. It would take time for his core to recover, but Harry was flatly unwilling to sleep in this damned field where anyone could stumble upon him.

He slowly and laboriously reached his left hand into the bottomless bag strapped to his thigh and pulled out a triple strength healing potion mixed with a potent adrenaline booster, designed by Severus to get a wounded fighter back in the action immediately. It came with risks, mostly that it exacerbated existing wounds and dulled other stimuli, but Harry was accustomed to it. Due to the red coloration and effects, the troops named it 'Devil's Blood' much to Severus's annoyance.

What felt like hours later, his hand was finally raised to his lips and pulled the cap off with his teeth. Then he poured the ruby red liquid down his relaxed throat. It tasted like liquid steel and burned the whole way down, but his wounds itched as the potion went to work closing them.

The booster portion took another few seconds to activate. A surge of fire shot up his chest, sending his heart into a pounding frenzy. His muscles spasmed with new energy.

He let his breathing even out, then moved.

He reached over to his bag and pulled out a small wooden charm on a length of string. It was a portkey to his only remaining safehouse, and he needed to get out of here. But first, he needed his wand.

It was sealed in a protected holster on the inside of his right calf. He had to reach around with his left hand, not an easy task by any means. He fumbled at the buckle that would release his wand, and after a moment's fiddling, he was able to pry the stubborn mechanism open.

His second wand had been crafted by a shady black market wandmaker during his first summer, when he'd been trying to avoid detection on his monitored wand. 10-inch, rosewood, with a phoenix tail feather core, good for transfiguration and animation magic. It wasn't as attuned to him as his Holly wand, but it did the job.

It nearly slipped out of his fingers as he tried to grip it, and just the thought of casting anything made him want to throw up.

"Asphalt aversions," he whispered, and the portkey activated, spinning him violently. He landed on the hard, concrete floor, and his injuries shrieked in pain. He lay on the floor for a minute, trying very hard not to throw up the potion he had just ingested, before painfully hauling himself upright.

It was agony, his limbs all felt like they were made of lead. The room was pitch black, by virtue of being underground. "Lumos," he whispered, and a faint light crept out of his wand.

He had found this place, an old bunker from the blitz, about six months ago. It was on the outskirts of London, buried in an abandoned section of the tube. He'd added dozens of protection wards and generally spruced the place up with a bed and his stockpile of equipment. Now, looking around, it was just barren walls and a dusty cot. Exactly like it was when he'd found it.

Nothing was making any sense, and he had a pounding headache that wasn't helping. Possibilities swirled about his head, but things were getting foggier every moment, and he knew he was on the verge of collapse.

He had nowhere else to go, and he was fairly sure this place was secure. The main problem with security was once the enemy knew where you were, all the wards in the world would only slow them. The door was still sealed, and the thick layer of dust on everything meant that no one else called this place home.

It would have to do.

Harry collapsed heavily on the cot, finally gaving into to the pressure and let his eyes slam shut.

**oooOOOooo**

Harry's mouth felt like a cotton ball, and he leaned up instinctively to hack over the edge of the cot. He blinked his eyes, surprised he'd had no nightmares that night. The night terrors had been his constant companions for at least a decade. But who was he to complain if they decided to give him a reprieve?

He checked his magical core and was pleased to see it had recovered moderately, now a small fire. Far from fully recovered, but he would take what he could get.

He groaned as he shifted slightly. He felt better than he had, but that still didn't mean he felt good. His ribs ached with every breath, and his shoulder itched something fierce. From both this and the progress of his core, he guessed he had been asleep for at least 15 hours, perhaps longer.

Experimentally, he pushed himself up, and was pleased when he managed it with only a minor flare of pain. Difficult, but not impossible. He had learned the difference well a long time ago. He placed his boots on the concrete floor and lifted his wand.

"Lumos," the word came out with much more confidence and strength, and the light was near blinding, filling up the small bunker completely. He blinked, pain flaring in his cornea, but cast his eyes around.

There was no sign he had ever been here before, which was concerning. Now that his faculties were back, he had many questions. How was he alive? Where was he, or perhaps more to the point, when was he?

During his final moments, he had been exposed to both the massive amount of energy from the failed containment spell detonating, exposing his magical core, and being struck by a killing curse.

None of those forces dealt with time directly, but with that much energy in one place it was impossible to say for certain what would happen. If he was flung backwards in time, then that must mean he had always been here, and so had failed to prevent all the losses suffered.

There was another option: dimensional travel. It had only ever been theorized by researchers, but there was nothing in magic to disprove the idea of alternate realities.

But Harry had more pressing matters. Firstly, healing himself.

He flicked his wand, and the ball of light travelled over to an empty light socket. He started with his right hand, magically straightening his broken fingers and setting them. The pain made him grimace, and the unnatural feeling of his bones shifting under his skin was unpleasant.

It was finished quickly, and Harry experimentally moved all his fingers in sequence to see if there was any pain or lack of movement. His ring finger was unable to bend past the first knuckle, so he sent another jolt of healing magic to fix it.

With that done, Harry slowly stripped out of his armor. Fashioned from the basilisk he had slain in his second year, dyed black, it had seen Harry through nearly every battle. At the many points it had been breached, it was stitched together with silver thread, a scar the same as that which decorated his body.

Snape and a specialist craftsman in France had fashioned 12 suits just like this one, and they had been passed down through various members of the Order throughout the war. It had cost a mid-sized fortune to get them all enchanted and created, but it was a small price to pay in his mind for safety and security.

Harry was unsure what happened to the others, but he was fairly sure only one other full suit remained in the possession of Cho Chang, the rest either destroyed or captured by the forces of darkness.

Basilisk scale was naturally magic resistant, light and flexible. The suits could be worn underneath robes or even loose muggle clothes. But the hide itself could not be enchanted, so the soft inner lining was heavily spelled with temperature regulation, shock absorption and even a low-level regeneration spell.

Harry practically lived in the suit, and it had a smell to match. He cast a quick Scourgify, feeling the spell bite into his skin. The wound on his shoulder looked like pulped meat, and Harry turned his attention to it first. He swiftly closed the wound and knit the shattered bone back together. The whole area was still raw and tender, and it would take time for it to fully heal. It would leave a scar, but it was just another to add to his collection. There were dozens of them, dotted around his entire body. Some large, some small, but he remembered all of them.

His ribs were next, and than an assortment of other smaller scrapes and bruises. Just as he finished closing a large cut on the side of his face, his stomach growled loudly.

_When was the last time I ate? _Harry pondered, _It was before the ambush, so that's at least 18 hours ago, not counting how long I was passed out in that field._

He grabbed three ration bars from his bag and ate them as quickly as he could, not noticing the chalky taste or disgusting flavor. He washed it down with another healing potion before slipping back into his armor.

He settled back into the cot, shifting to get comfortable.

_Here's the plan: sleep and heal, then head out into the world to determine exactly where and when I am and strategize from there. _Harry thought to himself. His wand in a loose grip, he once again fell asleep.

**oooOOOooo**

_Harry was sitting in front of the hearth in his private room in Hogwarts, the chair sagging under his weight. A glass of firewhiskey hung limply from his hand. He was staring at the flames, when suddenly a voice broke him from his stupor._

"_Ah, I see you've finally decided to join us," crooned a soft, slippery voice. One he knew well._

_Voldemort._

_Harry was out of his seat in an instant, spinning around to take in the small, motley group lounging around his sitting room._

_Voldemort sat in the middle, his pallid, snake like face besmirched with a smile and painted in orange from the fire. Next to him, Bellatrix Lestrange sat on the floor, stroking her master's arm and cooing. Lucius Malfoy and Draco were sitting together at a little end table, a chessboard between them. But they were only looking at him, eyes filled with… happiness?_

_Harry snapped his wrist, summoning his wand to his hand. But it did not come. Voldemort stood smoothly, ignoring Bellatrix. Harry bared his teeth and took a step back._

_Voldemort chuckled "Oh, none of that. After all, you can't kill us twice, now can you?" he said almost gently, and Draco chuckled in the background._

"_Where am I? How are you all here?" Harry demanded, fear seeping into his bones. The assembly of former Dark Lords all rolled their eyes. Draco clucked his tongue. _

"_Merlin, Potter, do you really need it spelled out? You're dead. Deceased. Kicked the bucket. This is the afterlife," the prick said snidely. _

_Harry's breath was coming fast, and the room seemed to spin. The fire was dying, and the shadows crept closer. _

"_If I'm dead, why are you lot here? I hated every single one of you, and the feeling was mutual," Harry said, panicked. Bellatrix threw her head back and laughed her horrible, cackling laugh. "Silly boy! We are your peers, the only ones who ever understood you. You're one of us," she said in a high voice. _

_That caught Harry's attention, and his voice was cold as he bit off his automatic response. "I am nothing like you." _

_Lucius stood and regarded him with his cold eyes. "There is no room for self-deception here, Potter. You may have fought against us, but you were nothing like those other pathetic wizards you called friends. All the lives they claimed hung over them, but you?" Lucius smiled without humor. "You could kill a man before breakfast and forget about it by lunch."_

_The light was growing faint._

"_I killed for necessity, not for pleasure like you," Harry spluttered, wondering if this was hell. Suddenly, pale thin arms wrapped around him, and a warm, soft body pressed into his back. _

"_Liar," Bellatrix breathed into his ear. _

_Harry tried to move, to throw her off, and disgust filled him at the thought of this bitch touching him, but he was paralyzed. She ran her sharp fingernails over his chest, sending shivers up his spine. _

"_Are you going to tell me you didn't enjoy killing Rabastan?" she whispered breathily, her mouth so close to his ear the moist heat from her breath sent goosebumps down his body. "You didn't enjoy watching the fire consume him, watching as his flesh dripped off his bones?" Bellatrix ground her body into Harry, her voice thick with lust. Draco was then in front of him, so close that Harry could see the specks of green in his blue eyes._

"_You didn't enjoy my death? You weren't jumping with joy as you crushed my head, finally ruining my pretty face?" Draco reached out and delicately brushed Harry's hair back, revealing his lighting bolt shaped scar, his fingers ghosting over it._

_The light had faded so much Harry could barely make out Draco's smug smirk. Bellatrix rolled her hips into him, and bit his ear hard enough to draw blood, and it dripped down his neck, strangely cold._

_Voldemort laughed, but Harry couldn't see him. "Oh, you'll come around Harry. You'll accept your place with us eventually. After all, we have eternity."_

"_No no no no no no no NO NO N-!" Harry yelled, but Bellatrix's hand tightened around his throat trapping the words in his throat. All of them were laughing the sound filled his mind drowned everything out and-_

Harry shot upright on the cot, cold sweat dripping down his face, close to hyperventilating. He wildly cast his eyes around the room, still lit by his fading spell in the old empty socket. He clutched his wand tightly and huddled up on the cot, pressing his back against the solid concrete, so unlike the soft body of that bitch Lestrange.

He sat there for what felt like hours, letting the tension slowly bleed out of his body, and his heart to return to a normal rate.

Finally, he took a breath, centering himself. He laughed shakily.

_I knew my brain could conjure horrors, but Lestrange spooning me has to take the cake,_ Harry thought sardonically.

Nightmares had been his constant companion for nearly a decade, but that didn't stop them from, as a drunken man on the tube had once told him, 'freaking his fucking balls off'.

He ran a quick inventory of his faculties.

_Shoulder, stiff but workable, ribs nearly healed, hand, tender, but can cast. Magical core… hummm, maybe 50%. Doable as long as I don't have to fight an army. _

_I really shouldn't jinx myself. Not with my track record. _

_Occlumency__ barrier, fully working, _Harry nodded to himself, and stood smoothly. Now, it was high time he figured out exactly what happened to him.

He conjured a mirror and grimaced at his appearance. He was covered in blood and grime, and his features had a certain gauntness to them. Harry had grown into a very attractive man, but the war had stripped him of most of his charms. The lack of glasses still startled him, as Madam Pomfrey had fixed his eyes in his sixth year. His body was thin and wiry, all muscle with not an ounce of fat. His armor hung slightly off his frame, and he was in desperate need of a haircut and a tub of shampoo. He looked like a particularly down-on-his-luck axe murderer.

_Well, it's not as if the Death Eaters cared if I looked like shit, h_e justified to himself. But if he was going to go out in public, he needed to be presentable, and glamors could only do so much.

Harry blasted himself with the strongest cleaning spells he dared and watched as most of the dirt and blood vanished, along with most of his weathered, old cloak. Harry pulled the rag off and vanished it. It was useless to him now.

Next, he trimmed his hair down, and spelled it clean as best he could. He removed the five o'clock shadow with a small flick, and tried to remove what he was sure was a ripe smell as best he could.

Next, he reached into his bag and retrieved a small silver ring. Technically, glamor rings were illegal, but Harry had never cared. They had saved his life on more than one occasion. They were harder to dispel, and unless one had an enchanted eye or incredible magical sensitivity, they would have no idea he was wearing a disguise.

He slipped the ring onto his finger, and his reflection rippled in the mirror before being replaced with a nondescript man, sporting brown hair and brown eyes, in a set of neat but unremarkable robes. Harry twisted the ring, and the cloths shifted into a muggle suit, utterly mundane.

Harry twisted his face into a bland smile. He'd modeled it on Vernon's expression when he was kissing up to someone.

"Tempus," Harry muttered, and the time floated before him. 8:23 am. Perfect. He could slip into the morning rush crowd in London.

Nodding to himself, Harry apparated away from his safehouse to London, appearing inside a filthy alleyway with a quiet 'pop'. It was empty, and the air was balmy. He straightened his tie, then made his way out onto the bustling sidewalk. He was aiming for a small convenience stand about a quarter mile away. In his world, it had been October 18th, 2007. The climate certainly didn't feel like October, it was closer to early summer heat. After a short walk through the bustling city streets, he arrived at the stand.

The papers were strewn about, filled with some celebrity gossip, but Harry zeroed in on the date.

June 5th, 1996. 11 years in the past.

He stood there, stunned for a moment. Perhaps this one newsstand was wrong. In a blur, he sped through the city to a convenience store.

The date on the papers there was the same.

Harry quickly ducked into a nearby alley after slipping out of the store. He leaned against the rough brickwork, heart pounding. He could barely hear the bustle of the crowd. It was one thing to ponder the possibilities, the logical conclusions, but to actually see it damn near knocked him over.

He was in the past.

But was it his past?

He had been 15 at this time, and he wasn't up to date on muggle news. He needed to get his hands on a copy of the Prophet. He dug into his bag for his wizard coin pouch, fumbling with it for a moment.

He fished out a single knut and without hesitation apparated to a small wizarding community 20 miles outside Essex. Diagon Alley was too busy, too central. He needed isolation just in case. It was a sleepy little town, mostly filled with poorer purebloods who couldn't afford their own estates. But it had a pub, the Dancing Dragon, that sold the Daily. He only just remembered to switch his clothing to robes before he walked in.

Harry forced himself not to sprint inside, instead maintaining a leisurely pace as he strolled into the pleasant little establishment. It was quiet inside, only a single young wizard manning the bar, and an elderly couple eating breakfast at one of the tables.

Harry strolled up to the bar, and managed to restrain himself from snatching one of the papers. He smiled blandly at the young man, who eyed him with slight suspicion.

"Good morning!" Harry greeted with false cheer, and a slight nod of the head. "Just popping in for a copy of the Prophet." he laid the knut down on the counter, and the barkeep seemed to relax. He handed him the paper with a small word that Harry didn't hear.

"Thank you my good man!" Harry yelled as he practically ran out of the pub, unable to wait any longer. He apparated on instinct, and landed at a isolated London park, near the river, sat down on a bench and yanked the paper open.

'**World Quidditch Cup Location Finalized in Romania,"** was the top headline, but his eyes bounced to a smaller headline which read '**Blood Purists Run Rampant in Hogsmeade!'** on page three.

He didn't remember any mention of Blood Purists in his time, so he flipped to the story and looked a picture of a burned out husk of a building. He didn't recognize the photo, which showed a smouldering building and a few men in scarlet Auror robes milling around.

'**The night of June 4th was beautiful, stars glittering in the sky, a cool breeze. Until the peace was shattered when Orrios Panthicker, owner of the popular clothing location, "Orrios Finest Budget Robes", had his door blasted apart and was hauled out into the street by three figures clad in the Crimson Robes of the Blood Purists. Mr. Panthicker was restrained, beaten, and forced to watch as the robed assailants put his beloved shop to the flame. Then the innocent man was subjected to two Unforgivable curses in short order. His screams could be heard on the far side of town, but Ministry forces arrived too late to save Mr. Panthicker from a tragic death.**

**It's a story we've heard far too often these past two years. The Blood Purists, twice thought destroyed, return, and in this incarnation they save their most vicious methods for Purebloods who do not support them, slandering them as blood traitors. Orrios catered to many first-generation students at Hogwarts and would even sell copies of "Essential Guide to the Wizarding World," by Augustus Prewett, a book which the Blood Purists have tried to eliminate from circulation. They have not been as bold as to attempt a repeat of the Sunday Massacre of 1990, but experts claim it is only a matter of time before they return to mass murder.**

**When pressed for comment, the DMLE was as evasive as ever. Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt stated at the scene, "The investigation is currently ongoing, and I cannot speak in detail at this time. Rest assured, Mr. Penthicker's murder will not go unpunished." When asked about the 53 other unsolved murders brazenly committed by Purists, Auror Shacklebolt refused to answer. That number is thought to be much higher, but the point stands that in the past two years only four Purists have been apprehended, with a slightly higher number killed in battle.**

**What is most concerning is that so far Hogsmeade has been free of attack, on the assumption that the Purists would not dare attack again following their defeat in 1981, and the proximity of Headmaster Dumbledore would dissuade any attacks. This belief was shattered last night. The Purists have grown bolder in the last few years, and several unnamed sources fear this attack was to test the Ministry response time for a full scale raid of the town, or worse Hogwarts itself. Concerns have been stoked by the absence of the new Dark Lord, who has yet to enter the field. **

**Today, in the eyes of this reporter, things are bleak. Fear reigns in the streets, the Ministry seems unable to stop the hit and run tactics, and no one else seems to have any reasonable plan of action. Once vocal supporters of muggleborns have fallen silent in the face of increasing violence, and bodies pile up in the streets. When asked about what regular citizens could do, Senior Auror James Potter advises… **

Harry blinked stupidly at the collection of letters, trying to figure out how the collective came together to spell an impossible name. His father, James Potter, was alive. Not to mention, in his fifth year the Ministry would never have allowed such strong language to be printed in the paper, not when they had been denying the existence of the Death Eaters at all.

He was in an alternate reality. There was no other logical explanation. At least he wouldn't have to deal with time paradoxes, but still**. **All his knowledge of what was going to happen was worthless. There was no mention in the article of Voldemort, or any named Death Eaters. _Blood Purists seems a little on the nose. Not to mention red robes? Just makes you a more visible corpse, and it makes you look the same as the Aurors. _

It seemed there had been a recent revitalization in their activities, most likely the Dark Lord briefly mentioned. If he could figure out the overarching strategy, he might be able to cripple them or at least slow them down. Then he could move in for the kill.

Plans and tactics began swirling around his head before it all ground to a halt, and he stilled.

_Why would I do anything? This isn't my War. Why shouldn't I just pull up stakes and leave this godforsaken island to its own fate?_

_I could be free. _The thought echoed through his mind, and time seemed to slow down. Birds few in slow motion around the trees, and Harry wondered.

Ever since he had turned 11, he had felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. It had been on him to kill Voldemort, and even once he had the others looked to him for guidance and leadership.

"_Such is the burden of power," _Albus had told him once. Harry had wanted to have control over the war, and so had assumed a leading role in the Order by 17, and those of the DA who joined always saw him as their leader more than the others. By the time he was 20, he was the undisputed leader of the Light.

But when the war started slipping, Harry had been lost. He had no idea what to tell his troops as the Dark forces picked them off one by one. He had taken on the guilt of those failures, adding it to the burden that bowed his back.

He had never been able to walk away, even when the remains of the Order had entreated him to flee the country. They had been the closest things he had to family left, but still he couldn't turn his back and let the Death Eaters win.

He'd told himself that if he left it would be a betrayal all those who had fought and died, and those sacrifices had to mean something.

But here, in this new world, no one was counting on him to save them. These Blood Purists were not his problem, though they seemed to be in the same vein as the Death Eaters. The Ministry was as incompetent as ever, but that was almost comforting. But they were at least on the job, and it sounded like Albus was standing against them. They might be enough. Harry wasn't needed, and given his track record, he might make the situation worse.

He was powerful enough, and he knew enough to have a decent life in the muggle or magical world. The US was an option, as was France, though his French was rusty. Hell, he could even run to South America or Asia or Africa if he wanted. Nothing was holding him here.

And yet… he stayed on the bench. The memory of his last conversation with Cho Chang came unbidden to his mind.

The two had been lovers in the last days of the war, mostly out of mutual grief over those they had lost rather than any real feeling.

The image of her once beautiful face, marred with a long, ropey scar stretching from chin to forehead, was seared into his mind. She'd suffered the wound years earlier, on one of the many missions gone wrong under Harry's leadership. She looked defeated, broken, and was fleeing the country following Draco's ascension.

_Harry leaned against the door frame, watching as she packed her bag. "You're not to going to try and convince me to come with you?" he'd asked, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from seeping out of his otherwise neutral tone. Like they were discussing the weather. _

_Cho looked up at him, a deep sorrow in her eyes. "No. I thought about it, could maybe even talk you into it." _

_She sighed, and looked away from him "But I can't do it. If you left, you'd spend the rest of life regretting it. Without this war, you'll be a husk of yourself, filled with regret. And I can't do that to you." _

_Grabbing her bag, she closed the distance between them, and laid her soft hand on his face._

_He stared into her eyes, once filled with life and joy that had drawn him to her when he was still a schoolboy, and saw nothing. All her tears had dried, and all the hopes of youth dashed by uncaring reality. _

_He wondered what she saw in his eyes._

"_As long as I've known you, you've never been able to quit, or turn away from a fight. It's cruel that fate decided to put you in a war you can't win. That's your tragedy," she said softly, but not kindly. Harry didn't know how to respond to that. He couldn't deny anything she'd said. _

_Cho leaned in and laid a chaste kiss on his closed lips. "Goodbye Harry," she whispered, before vanishing out the door. _

_Harry supposed he should feel crushed. He should fall to the ground and weep bitter tears. He knew he should feel something, anything. _

_But he's just tired, and vaguely annoyed. Plans swirled around his mind, about supplying his army and securing another base now that they had lost Hogwarts. This hotel wouldn't last._

_He left the room and left all thoughts of Cho there with it. _

Harry blinked, bringing himself back to the present. Sometimes it was hard not to get lost in his thoughts, not to relive moments and wonder if he could have done anything different. But at the same time, he understood why he'd remembered this.

Even though these burdens had been forced upon him, he had accepted them readily. He could have run, or he could have given into his darkness and taken over the Death Eaters at numerous turning points.

But despite his dream, he wasn't like the Dark Lords he had slain. They fought only for themselves, letting their followers take the brunt of the bloodshed. Harry was always the first line of defense, and the last to withdraw. He fought for his family, for those who had fallen.

He had stayed in a hopeless situation, but it seemed Fate was giving him a second chance to start over fresh and right the wrongs of his past. If he ran away from this, he'd never forgive himself. Better to try and fail than to run.

_This is not my world, but I'll fight for it anyway._

Harry smiled, a real smile not tainted by sorrow or regret, as his resolve banished any doubts. Time to do what he did best: the wrong thing for the right reason.

**Authors Notes**

**Thanks for reading all this way! Review if you feel like it, this is going to be a long fic, so feedback now would be appreciated. If anyone has some good combat spell names, ones you made up yourself or saw in a another fic, send them my way with a brief description. I've been absorbing concepts and ideas from other Fanfictions for years, for this piece major inspiration came from ****Circular Reasoning ****by Swimdraconian, ****Delenda Est ****by Lord Silvere, and ****The Weapon Revised!** **By GwendolynnFiction **

**There are others I'm forgetting, I'm sure.**


	2. Pureblood Princess

If there was one key to a guerrilla campaign, it was proper planning. Rushing in head long without a strategy, contingencies or adequate supplies was at best reckless and at worst suicidal. Harry's old impulsivity had been cured by walking into one too many ambushes, and he would be leaving nothing to chance this time. He had to get it right the first time.

Mentally, he laid out all the things he would need,first and most important as much intelligence as he could lay his hands on. Not just on the Blood Purists, but on this world in general. It's politics, cultural and magical difference, and the major players. Not to mention this universes counterparts to his old friends, and any alternate version of himself. He could take nothing for granted, and assumptions could prove fatal.

Additionally, he had to restock his supplies, find and secure a suitable hideout, acquire a fake identity, fully heal and recover from his recent injuries and so on. All of it would require money, likely a small fortune, and somewhere secure. But before all that, he needed to take stock of what he already had.

Harry stood from the park bench, and apparated back to his bunker. He regarded the small concrete cell: 10 by 8 feet, furnished with nothing but a rickety old cot and a small metal box in the corner. It was secure, and would be near impossible to find unless one knew exactly what they looking for, but it had drawbacks. Firstly, it was tiny, and he couldn't risk magically expanding it or it would be easier to detect. So, that restricted what he could do, and certain operations, like runes, required a larger space.

Secondly, the ventilation system consisted of a series of worn out filters, which meant he couldn't brew several of his more volatile potions.

Thirdly, if he was detected there were no good escape routes. Under assault, his only option would be to fight. Limiting yourself to a single option was almost never the optimal play.

No, this place was good as a fall back, but it wouldn't do for his main base.

Seating himself on the floor, he pulled off his bottomless thigh bag, and quickly emptied it. First up, potion vials: 9 in total, 3 of which were empty. There were two more healing potions, two Devils Blood, Petrove's Decoction and a small vial of poison, in case he ever wanted to painlessly end his life. Hermione had gone off on him when she'd found it years ago. Harry didn't care. If it was a choice between suicide and being captured by the Death Eaters, he'd take the less painful way out. There was also a specially strengthened vial containing a few precious drops of basilisk venom.

He had three glamour rings, including the one he had used earlier, and another black robe. It was frayed by so many powerful cleaning charms it was practically see-through.

There was a small pouch of what appeared to be smooth, matte metal discs. They were surveillance devices, short range devices that transmitted images to an enchanted hand mirror. Hermione had been inspired by the mirror communicators the Marauders used, and had refined it into these. They had no sound, but were very hard to detect. Harry hadn't used them in a while, been too busy on the run.

For the same purpose he had a worn pair of omnioculars. He also had a bottomless satchel for when the opening on his thigh bag wasn't wide enough.

Next, his remaining money. He had a muggle wallet, with IDs for all three of his glamors, and one with a light compulsion spell that charmed muggles into doing what he told them too, within reason. Unfortunately all of them were dated past 1996, but he could quickly alter them if he needed to. He also had 615 pounds in hard cash. Harry leafed through, and pulled any of the bills that had yet to be printed, which was most of them. One 100 pound and a tenner where all the money he could directly spend.

Than his coin purse. It contained only a measly 2 galleons and 6 knuts.

The Death Eaters had set up checkpoints in every major wizarding settlement in an attempt to catch him, and when Harry switched to illegal vendors, Rookwood brutally cracked down on the underworld. He hadn't been able to replenish his supplies, and he had quickly burned through his alchemical weapons and potions, resorting to stealing what he needed. All combined, he'd had little need for wizard money.

All in all, it was near useless. He would need to entirely rebuild his reserves on top of getting warding material to secure a new base. Not to mention he would have to buy from the black market, or he would attract unwanted official attention. He had no desire to explain to the Ministry or Albus how he had arrived from an alternate reality, or end up in one of the specimen jars in the Department of Mysteries.

Harry wasn't up to date on current prices, but he could hazard a rough guess. He needed potion ingredients, some of which were exotic or rare, including a few that were on the ministries 'Controlled Substances' list, and he needed the equipment to brew the potions, easily 1000 galleons, maybe more if the market was in a bad place. Ward material that got around the goblins monopoly on the industry, another 400. A full set of high quality forged magical papers, anywhere from 600-1000, depending on the forger.

And he needed to buy books on recent history, new robes and a new set of unbreakable vials, and whatever else might come up, so he added 200 on to be safe.

So, worst case scenario he was looking at about 2500. He doubted he could get into the Potter or Black vaults undetected, and even if he could he had no desire to steal from people who might need it. His armour could be sold for at least 4,000, but giving up such a powerful and significant article was a bad trade at any price. The basilisk venom was similarly more valuable than the gold he could get for it. The remaining potions could be sold as well as the recipes he had gathered over the years, but they were all designed for heavy combat, and would only be of use to violent criminals or the Blood Purists. He doubted the Aurors would be willing to use an unknown potion with such extreme effects. He could try for gainful employment, but all of the fields he was skilled in, like curse-breaking or Hit-wizard work, required certifications and identity papers and recommendations from others in the industry. The only people who would hire him without question were, again, criminals.

There was a potential solution, but it would require some continuity with his own timeline. Confirming his theory would require access to the Registry.

Of all the snobby Pureblood systems, the Registry was perhaps the least surprising. It was a record of all the all the recognized pureblood families in Britain, Scotland and Wales (Most of the Irish Purebloods were seen as lesser than the families of Great Britain). It also showed all of the links between family trees, such as marriages or heirships. But they were outdated, as the modern Pureblood population was much smaller than it had been in the past, so navigating a vast interconnected forest of separate family trees was unnecessary. Though some of the ancient families, like the Blacks, had copied their own trees for themselves.

But, that didn't stop the Ministry from dutifully keeping it up to date with every new birth, marriage or death, magically linked to the other records. They took the form of massive murals, that could be changed like muggle computer screens.

There were three concurrent copies; one in the Ministry, and surrounded by other record machines and noisy employees, so that was out. Next, one was held at Hogwarts, hidden away along with the schools registry. He could break in, but Albus Dumbledore was probably there, and coming face to face with another version of his old mentor was not something Harry welcomed.

He'd loved the old man like a grandfather, but he was one of the most manipulative bastards he had ever met. Besides, what he was planning was unlikely to be in line with Dumbledores more gentle philosophy, and he had no interest in battling the man for control of the Light. He didn't have the heart for it.

The final version was the original, located in the original wizengamot meeting place at Loc Muinne, an ancient and abandoned wizarding city where the wizards of the isle had first come together as one people. It was mostly kept as a historical site, with minimal security.

According to the theories he had read, there had to some sort of diverging event when a single reality split, and that changes from that decision compounded over time until the two realities were extremely different. The Registry wouldn't tell him everything, but it was a starting point to see exactly what changed. Of course, that theory could be wrong, but he was sure there was at least some connection between the two realities.

Firstly, the Prophet was the same, with the same typeface and format. Secondly, the Dancing Dragon was exactly the same as he remembered. The paper had mention Kingsley being an Auror, and he knew James Potter had been one in his reality before he died. The diverging event was probably sometime after Kingsley and his father had been born, because the odds of the same person being born at the same time were hilariously small. Or were they?

Damn it, he had to purchase books on interdimensional theory and genetic probability as well. He added another 5 galleons to his mental tally.

Harry gathered his equipment back together and reached for his second glamor ring. Putting it on, he transformed into a tall, thin man with combed back blond hair and aristocratic features. Only Purebloods knew the location of Loc Muinne, and if he discovered it would help to look the part. With a whisper of a pop, he was on his way.

**oooOOOooo**

The area he landed was a small field, layered with a multitude of muggle repelling charms and concealments to prevent them from stumbling on the ruins of dark stone jutting out of the landscape. Harry glanced around, and found no one. His magical senses detected no mages within few hundred yards.

Loc Muinne had been the largest settlement of magicals in the country until the mid 15th century, when the government had relocated to its current location under London. Ministry jobs where, by that point, the only reason anyone remained. So, the cities population packed up and left nearly as one, with the last resident dying in 1601, leaving the place a ruin.

Harry strolled through the slightly overgrown grass, looking at the remains of foundations and walls, held this long by ancient enchantment. After only a couple of minutes, he arrived at the old Roman inspired forum. It stood three stories tall, with a sweeping dome and grand pillars. But the stone was worn down, the edges sanded off by the relentless wind, and it lay open to the elements, its huge wooden doors long rotted away. Harry strolled into the building, taking in the ancient stone benches.

He wondered what Hermione would have thought of it. She'd wanted to visit, to take in the wizarding history and study it, but she'd never gotten the chance. Harry reached a small staircase tucked in the back of the room, and made his way into the catacombs beneath the old city.

There was enough ambient light that Harry could get away with a spell that increased his eyes sensitivity. "Specta Omnis" he whispered, and instantly the dark corridor brightened considerable, enough that he could make out the cracks in the ceiling. Over the centuries many cave in had occurred, but the path to the Registry should be clear.

Left, right, left, down another flight of stairs, left twice, the third door on the right.

Harry pushed through the unsecured door, and there it was. A massive expanse of grey stone, it appeared blank from distance. But it was in it's full state, and was coated with thousands of microscopic cravings of every pureblood born in the last 1000 years.

The reason it was so poorly guarded was two fold, firstly almost no one knew about it, and second you couldn't do anything malicious, like add a new name to the family tree, unless you added it to the other two as well, and to the other lists, which would be nearly impossible.

The only reason Harry knew about was because Rabastan had stupidly hidden here in an attempt to stop Harry from assassinating him. It hadn't worked, but now Harry was grateful to the hateful necromancer.

He raised his wand up to the stone mural, and tapped in once. "The Noble House of Potter." he declared, rolling his eyes at the ceremony the Purebloods demanded.

Instantly, the mural blurred, and it expanded in on a long, thin family tree, stretching back 11 generations, from when Thomas Potter was anointed as Lord Potter all the way to the modern age. Harry found his parents easily enough.

Lord James Potter, born 27th of March, 1960. He married Lily Potter Nee Evans, who wasn't important enough to have a birthday inscribed with her betters. Two dots where above her name, indicating her status as a muggleborn witch.

Harry was most interested to see three lines snaking down from the two. The first was familiar, Harry James Potter, born 31 of June, 1980. What was new was the inscription underneath.

Died October 31, 1981.

_Interesting. _Harry thought. So it appeared he wouldn't have to worry about a younger version on him running around, and wasn't that a scary thought.

_I think one of me is all the world can bear._

Perhaps it wasn't surprising that this Harry hadn't become the boy-who-lived, after all the magic that saved him had been his mothers, not his own. Without her death, he was doomed.

He made a mental note not to mention that the this Lily Potter if he spoke with her. He could only imagine the trauma at losing a child, and he wouldn't want to add on any more guilt.

However, this version of the family continued with a set of twins.

Rose and Alexander Potter, born December 3, 1982.

Harry smiled, imagining the terror that two marauder raised children could wreak on Hogwarts. They probably gave the Weasley twins a run for their money.

He wondered what had happened to his adoptive family, and tapped the stone. "House of Weasley."

The stone blurred as it shot over, and the Weasley family tree was just as wide and sprawling as the Potter one was narrow and linear. It seemed having many children was a family tradition.

But the marriage between Arthur Weasley and Molly Weasley nee Prewett had produced the same family he was familiar with.

All seven siblings were in their proper places, though his heart clenched just reading Ginny's name. He had failed every member of the redhead clan, but he had failed her the worst. She had been his on again, off again girlfriend, and a part of Harry assumed they'd be together after the War.

But instead, she had been captured by Lord Malfoy Ⅰ, and it had taken her days to die. The state her body was in when he and Ron had finally found marked the only time he'd ever been sick looking at a corpse.

Harry shook his head, trying to shake the ill thoughts away.

They were just a distraction.

Instead he checked on his other friends. Neville was in the same place, though he was sorry to note both Frank and Alice Longbottom had died. On October 31st, 1981. Curious. Luna Lovegood and Susan Bones, as well as Hannah Abbott were there. And so was Cedric Diggory, mercifully still alive, rather than his life cut before he was even out of school.

"The Ancient and Noble House of Black" Harry uttered, only slightly dreading what he would find.

It appeared similar to his own world, with Sirius and Regulus as the only male heirs of the house. Regulus died in '82, and it appeared Orion Black was still alive as Lord of his house.

Technically, Harry held that title as well as the lordship of the Potters. He had no idea if it was magically bound, and he was in no hurry to figure it out. It would just raise uncomfortable questions. The positions were mostly ceremonial in modern times anyway.

To his pleasant surprise, Sirius was not dead, instead it appeared he had married a woman named Chloe Arseneau. No markings, so she was a pureblood, but had no lines connecting her elsewhere. Probably French, given the last name.

They also had a child, Orion Regulus Black. Harry cocked an eyebrow at the name choice.

_Either he patched things up with his family, or he never needed too. I really hope he's still the black sheep of the family. _

The female line from Cyrus had three branches, two shooting off to other trees as wives, but Andromeda's name was sitting off to one side, attached to Theodore Tonks with a null sign indicating disinheritance from her family bisecting the line.

Harry smirked. That meant Tonks was likely alive in this universe.

But this was enough fun and games, he had a reason for being here after all.

"The Noble House of Caldwell." Harry stated, and the stone showed him. This particular was going strong from the 16th century until it abruptly tapered off in the mid 40s, with 6 members dying on the same day on January 9th, 1945. After that, nothing. Harry smiled slightly. _Perfect._

During the war started by Grindelwald, The Caldwells had sided with the Dark Lord. They were one of the richest pureblood families, and their gold fueled Grindelwald's army. But the Caldwells bet wrong, and in the ensuing war the family had been one of many wiped out by conflict. This included their ancestral home, but their summer home, located on a small, isolated island East of Scotland, had remained untouched in Harry's world. At least until it had been spotted during a mounted battle over the sea by Mad-Eye. And if Harry was lucky, it would be still be sitting there, full of goods fit to pawn, and a small safe with the families emergency fund.

Just than, a sound floated down the hallway, just a whisper, but Harry noticed it. He snapped his wand around and turned towards the door, straining his ears and stretching out his magical senses. After a moment, he detected another footfall, setting down just hard enough to echo. But only a small magical signature just on the edge of his perception.

_30 feet, echo coming from the second stairwell. Weak ministry employee? Did I trip a ward rune? _

Harry quickly disillusioned himself, silenced his footfalls and crept out of the room. He jogged up, focusing on the magic as it grew steadily stronger. Before too long, he spotted magical light filtering down the hall, and soft footfalls.

Harry cancelled the spell increasing his eyesight, and the hall fell into deep shadow, with the pale white light creeping forward. Harry pressed himself into a small alcove cut out of the stone, and stilled.

A robed figure was advancing, but Harry realised they were very short, and thin. Far too short. He could make out a slim, pale hand holding the wand aloft. The head moved about, looking around. He could sense magic, but it was different, too small and yet untamed.

They were a child. Likely a Hogwarts student.

He relaxed, but only partially. Even a young wizard _or more likely witch _could be still be dangerous if underestimated. He could have left them to their devices, but at the same time this place was hazardous, with cave ins and long forgotten booby traps. If he left them here, and they were hurt, it would be on him. Best if he convinced her to go.

Not that he could tell her who he was. He was still a terrible liar, but he had learned how to twist the truth to fit his narrative.

**oooOOOooo**

Dorea tried to remain as silent as she could. Sneaking around Hogwarts was one thing, but sneaking out of school and across the country was a whole other matter.

_If Mother finds me I'll be in detention for a month, and more once we get home._

But exams were nearly on, and most of Slytherin had their heads buried in books. Dorea was confident she could ace all of her exams, and the accumulated stress was giving her a headache. On the plus side, most of the teachers, including her Mother, were busy helping students review and revise. She had learned of Loc Muinne after reading about it in Grandfathers study, and she had instantly desired to see it.

But no one was ever available to take her, always saying "_Maybe later Dorea, ask in a few months" _over and over and over. She had even been tempted to talk to her uncle, but she wasn't that desperate. She was capable of doing it herself.

The two way portkey from Hogsmeade to Loc Muinne and back had cost most of her allowance, but it was worth it to really see her heritage. To touch the birthplace of her government and society. Now, she was sneaking through the darkened tunnels underneath the old forum, searching for any secrets.

In truth, the thrill and danger of getting caught only added to the experience. Mother was always so hovering, so overprotective, it was smothering.

As she was lost in thought, a spell shot out of the darkness and struck her square in the chest. Dorea was thrown backwards, and her wand was ripped from her hand. She let out an undignified squeak as conjuried ropes shot around her, tightening down and restraining her.

She wriggled around for a moment, panicking in the darkness, before a strong light flashed blindingly. Dorea blinked the tears away from her eyes, and only just noticed that her hood was thrown back. She blinked painfully, and saw a robed wizard standing in front of her.

He had slicked back blond hair and an unimpressed expression on his face. She also saw her wand, held loosely in his left hand. He raised a single sculpted eyebrow at her.

"Young lady, this is a class 2 protected site. What exactly do you think you're doing here?" he said in an icy voice, and Dorea felt a smidgen cowed. Not that she showed it.

She lifted her chin and sneered "I would take care how you speak to me. I am no common criminal, now release me this instant!" She commanded, hoping he recognized her. He was clearly a ministry employee, he might have the authority to arrest her or call Aurors who could.

_Damn it, I thought this place was empty!_

But the man just stared at her, expression unchanged. His eyes held no mercy, and Dorea began to shift uncomfortably. She broke eye contact, and looked at the floor.

It appeared he was waiting for her to answer. _Might as well get this over with. I can already imagine Mothers lecture. _

"I wanted to see Loc Muinne, so naturally here I am." she said as grandly as she could.

The man shook his head. "So you decided the law didn't apply to you?" Dorea blinked at his impudence. Didn't he know who she was!

"How dare you!" she said "This place is my birthright, if anyone has the right to enter it's me! Now let me go, or I'll make sure you can't get a job cleaning toilets!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the hallway.

Rather than being put in his place, the wizard chuckled softly, and Dorea was officially enraged. When she got out of here, she was heading straight to her grandfather.

"Well, I don't need to see your tie to figure out what house you're in." he said with a faint echo of humor, and Dorea stopped. _Wait, he really doesn't know who I am._ Her tie was Slytherin green, so that was all he knew. _Maybe I can get out of this without Mother getting involved. _The man flicked his wand at her, and the ropes vanished. Dorea rubbed her arms, and took a step back from the man.

"You're what, a third year?" he asked, looking her over. "Yes… I'm… Alice. Alice Hornbrook." she made up the name on the spot. The man stood a few feet away, and it didn't seem he was going to give her wand back.

"Whatever you say Alice." he said, his eyes glittering with humor, giving Dorea the distinct feeling he could see straight through her deceit

She gulped, but went along with the plan. "I'm, uhh, very sorry for the way I spoke. I was just surprised, and under a great deal of stress." the apology burned her throat a little, but it was for a good cause.

The man was unmoved. He just kept staring at her, and it rather reminded her of Professor McGonagall.

Still, she pressed on, and put on her best innocent doe eyes "I learned my lesson, I promise I'll leave right away. I have a portkey, and-" He held up a hand, cutting her off. "Come on, I'll escort you back to school." he said briskly and brushed past her, the burning light following. Dorea snarled at his back, how dare he treat her this way! Honestly, she was practically royalty!

Grudgingly, she ran after him. "Soooo, I'm not in trouble?" she asked slyly, having to step quicker to keep up with his long, louping gait. "Not from me. Just that these tunnels have not been maintained in a long time. I can't let anyone get buried alive, can I?" he said calmly, almost bored. Dorea suppressed a victorious smile. She might just skate out of here safely.

"I can't believe that the Ministry just left this place a crumbling ruin! It's an important part of our history, but does anyone care?" she ranted animatedly. The man shot her a wry grin "History doesn't pay, and the ministry is far more concerned with pinching knuts than history. Besides, there are other reasons no one talks about this place."

Dorea cocked her head at him curiously. In all honesty, she had tried to research this place, but apart from a few scattered references it was largely excluded from the Hogwarts library. But, if he worked here, he might know more.

"Like what?" she asked lightly as he glided swiftly through the tunnels.

"Oh, just that the elites of the time wanted to move under Diagon alley, because London was the economic capital of the country. But, it doesn't look good abandoning the old capital for economic reasons." the man said smoothly, and Dorea snorted. She was normally so uptight, with so many people watching her constantly. But here, with a man who's name she didn't even know, she felt strangely comfortable.

"Well, it seems those spineless paper pushers haven't changed over the centuries." she groused. Public servants though they may be called, most politicians she'd had run into over the years only served themselves.

The man chuckled "You have no idea. Wizarding history is long and messy, but do they teach it? Try to stop new generations from making the same mistakes? No. I bet all you learned was the goblin rebellions." the man said, a hint of bitterness seeping out on the word 'mistakes'.

Dorea nodded. "Once, I asked Binns about the war with Grindelwald, and he just blankly looked at me for a second before going back into the Giant War of 1886." she overextravigated the old ghosts perplexed expression, staring at the man seriously before they both broke down in laughter.

In a moment both had compoused themselves. The man's laugh reminded Dorea of her father, and the typical ache that came from thinking of him. He had died when she was only six, so most of her memories of him where blurry and fragmented, but she remembered his smile, the way he could cheer her up no matter what. He could do the same to her mother, but after he died it was a wound festering between the two women, occasionally exploding out into a raw pain, screaming and crying.

Dorea's face fell and she hunched her shoulders and speed up. Best to get back to school as soon as she could. The man apparently hadn't been around many teenagers, as he decided to ask a dangerous question:

"What's wrong?"

Dorea rolled her eyes and huffed. He may reminder her vaguely of her father, but he was still a stranger. And he still had her wand.

Despite the silence, the man chuckled lightly. Apparently he found her endlessly amusing. Still, they were nearly back at the surface, and all she had to do was keep it together enough for him to let her off scott free, and this day would be an interesting story to tell in a few years.

A hand landed on her shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Dorea opened her mouth to ask what the hell he was doing, than she heard. The heavy thunk of boots at a run, and getting closer.

Before Dorea could say a word, the man pulled her down another tunnel at a hurried clip.

The sound of men running behind them increased, and Dorea craned her head back to get a look at their pursuers, and she caught a glimpse of crimson robes in the darkness

Blood Purists.

Cold fear dripped down her back. Her Grandfather was one of the fiercest opponents to them politically, and they had attempted to blackmail him into supporting them.

Kidnapping her seemed a natural escalation, though it wouldn't do them any good. Grandfather would slaughter them all in retaliation.

The man sprinted into a large chamber at the end of the hall. It was a dead end, and the sound was getting closer.

Dorea was breathing fast, but her occlumency training served her well. They couldn't risk harming her, but some random ministry employee? They would probably kill him. And she couldn't let that happen.

So, she grabbed the man's shoulder "Listen to me, you need to hide. They won't hurt me, but they'll kill you. After they take me, find my Grandfather, he'll know what-" "I don't hide. And I don't run." the man interrupted cooly, and Dorea wanted to pull her hair out at his macho posturing.

"Damnit, I don't want you to die for me!" she yelled through clenched teeth. The man spun around, and Dorea gulped at his expression. Or lack of one.

It was as though all the emotion had been stripped away, and the features had been painted back on inexpertly. The only exception were the eyes. They blazed with a utter readiness, no fear or panic.

Without looking at her, than man flicked his wrist at her and Dorea stilled as the magic tightened in on her. Another flick and she was slammed into the ceiling, where she stuck.

Than, a feeling like a cold egg cracked onto her head came over her. _Disillusionment. _But the man had made no wand movements.

_Silent, motionless casting!? I've only seen Headmaster Dumbledore and Grandfather do that! Who is this guy? Why is such a powerful wizard guarding a forgotten ruin? _

Questions were mounting, but they were put aside when red robed figures burst into the chamber, wands outstrechted. Their red robes where unadorned, and the hoods had a spell on them that made it look like their faces were swirling shadows. The lead figure took a menacing step forward, and orbs of light hovered around, bathing the scene in white.

"Where's the girl?" the leader growled roughly as his men took up a rough semi-circle, wand aimed at the man.

The man was unphased.

"Gentlemen, this is a class 2 protected site. Without proper permits, I'm afraid you'll need to leave immediately." he said in the same bored tone he'd addressed Dorea with.

Dorea stared at him like he'd just grown a second head, and she was sure the Purists shared the expression as they shifted and looked around, confused.

The leader tilted his head, likely questioning if this man was sane. Dorea definitely was.

The leader stepped forward, and pointed his wand menacingly at the man.

"Listen here, you're going to tell us where the girl is or I'll have to get... unpleasant, if you understand." he growled, anger seeping out.

The man raised his eyebrows "And here I was thinking you didn't have a pleasant side, Yaxley." he said conversationally.

That caused all the Purists to still.

Dorea's confusion was growing, did this man know the Purist? 'Yaxley' had a similar reactions, stiling and lowering his wand slightly. "How-"

Without warning, the man blurred into motion, dodging to the left, spells flinging from his wand so fast Dorea could barely follow. One of the purists was hurled back into the wall with a sickening crunch. Another was hit with a dirty grey spell and his head spun around and popped off like a champagne cork.

Yaxley and the last one spread out to either side of the man, and in unison the two yelled "Avada Kedavra!"

Two sickly green orbs streaked towards the man. He dropped to the ground, letting both curses pass harmlessly overhead. Before the Purists could change targets, he tapped the ground, and it rippled, before sending huge spikes of rock shooting out of the floor to impaling both Purists. The nameless one was pinned the wall, with two spikes impaling his torso with a spray of blood.

Yaxley wasn't so lucky, screaming in agony as one spike pinned his leg to the wall, and another speared through his wand hand, with the wand mixed in. The man strolled forward, silencing the Purist with a perfunctory stunning spell.

It was over in less than 15 seconds.

Dorea's occlumency failed her. She was officially panicking. She was at the mercy of a vicious killer with no one knowing where she was, and he still had her wand.

She was going to die.

Before she could hyperventilate, the man waved his wand, and Dorea was deposited on the floor in front of him. She stood, frozen in fear. The man ignored her, erasing all the evidence of the brief but bloody battle. He also removed the spikes from Yaxley, transfigured his robes into restraints and sealed his wounds. She looked away, and saw a red mound of fabric a few inches away.

It was a severed head.

Dorea turned away as the contents of her breakfast came rushing back up her throat, and she bent, vomiting on the stone floor.

The man cast his eyes up at Dorea, and she instinctively stepped back, holding her hands up, not caring a bit of sick was dripping down her chin. She could run, but he was between her and the door, and she doubted she was faster than him. The man sighed tiredly.

"I'm not going to hurt you Alice." he said in a calm voice, looking over at her.

"Wh-who are you? You said you worked for the ministry!?" her voice came out embarrassingly high.

The man shrugged "Well, technically, I never claimed that. Just didn't correct your assumption." he explained almost sheepishly.

Dorea backed up until her back hit the stone, muttering to herself "_Oh merlin I really don't want to die here, I really really don't wanna die."_

The man rolled his eyes "_I told you I'm not going to hurt you. I think that covers not killing you as well." _he said sarcastically, and for the third time in as many minutes, Dorea was shocked into stillness by him answering her hisses. And so was the man, clenching his jaw and looking to the side.

"You speak parseltongue." she whispered, and the man visibly winced. He put his head in his hands and she could just barely make out "Great fucking work. If Mad-Eye could see me now... Wait."

His eyes snapped up to hers, and his face had gone expressionless again. "How do you speak parseltongue?" he asked icily, his eyes drilling into hers.

"I, I, I'm Dorea, Dorea Slytherin." she stammered, and he blinked, clearly stunned.

"What?! But the Family of Slytherin was dissolved centuries ago!" he said, looking at her like she had just declared she was from space.

Dorea drew back fully against the wall, stuttering "Well, well, it, uhh, it was. But My Grandfather, he lobbied the Wizengamot in, uhh, 1949 to restore the family!" she explained in a hurry, tripping over the words.

The man looked like he could be knocked over by a stiff breeze. "Your grandfather is Tom Riddle?"

Dorea nodded. Silence stretched out between them, and the man stared off into space.

"You're mother is a Black, isn't she? 'Dorea' is a Black name." he asked in a soft voice, as though he was far away.

"Yes. Bellatrix." she said, now very concerned.

He knew her Grandfather's birth name, knew Black family names, could recognize a Blood Purist by voice, was a parseltongue and yet he was blown away by the existence of one of the most famous families in the country?

"Who are you?" she repeated, and finally he came back to reality. He looked at her oddly for a moment, than pinched his brow.

"That is a far more complex question than you realize. All you need to know is that I'm an enemy of the blood Purists. However, I've given far too much away. Can't have you telling Albus or Tommy-boy about me. Not yet, anyway." he muttered the last part to himself.

Dorea did not like the sound of that, and she bolted for the door. She made it a whole two yards before his paralyzing spell hit her, and she floated into the air.

She spun lazily over to the man, and looked in his eyes. "Don't fret, this will leave no lasting damage." He reassured in a soft voice, which didn't comfort her as she tracked the wand coming up, pointing straight between her eyes. "Obliviate"

**oooOOOooo**

Dorea blinked her eyes open, and realized she was lying on the ground, and feeling rather dizzy.

She sat up, and yawned. It was mid afternoon, and she could just see the roofs of Hogsmeade in the distance.

Her head felt muddled, like someone had filled her skull with loose cotton. Why was she out here?

Blearily, she cast her eyes down to a small rock in her hand, and she knew it was important.

Than, it came back to her. It was the portkey she had bought after flooing to Knockturn alley last month, the one to Loc Muinne.

She remembered wandering the ruins, admiring the stonework, standing in awe of the ancient forum, than going into the tunnels. Than… Oh right, she'd explored around, but found nothing of interest, than had gone back up to portkey back to school.

But...she remembered being afraid in the tunnels. Why? Nothing should have caused that, they were empty.

_Maybe it was the dark? No, I haven't been afraid of the dark since I was 5. _Somehow, the whole experience in the tunnels seemed distant, like she was watching herself from a distance rather than experiencing it for real.

Before she could ponder the mystery any further, a voice rang out over the still summer air

"DOREA!" her mother's voice pierced her skull and instantly summoned a pounding headache.

The teenager quickly clambered to her feet, and saw her mother running up, her large black robes fluttering behind her, and a look of panic on her face. She closed the distance in an instant, and grabbed Dorea, sweeping her wand along her torso to check for any wounds.

Dorea rolled her eyes at her mother's overzealous concern over her health.

"I'm fine professor." she said, biting the title off. Her mother had taken the post as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher the same year Dorea started school, and the timing wasn't lost on anyone. People still ribbed her about it.

Bellatrix pulled back, the look of panic gone, replaced by fury.

"Dorea, how could you just run off? You scared me nearly to death! And where were you, and why were you lying in the dirt?! What..." Dorea tuned out the rest of the scolding/interrogation, waiting for her mother to take a breath so she could respond.

It took 5 minutes.

"... and it's disgraceful! Now, what do you have to say for yourself young lady?" her mother finished, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at Dorea.

"I went to Loc Muinne." she said in a tired voice. She was hungry, and just hoped her mother's lecture didn't go past dinner.

"Dorea, I told you that your grandfather and I would take you there when the time was right! It is a crime to go their without permits, and it could be dangerous."

That last part made her roll her eyes. Everything was dangerous in her mother's mind.

Her mother's eyes narrowed dangerously "Do not roll your eyes at me young lady. You are in enough trouble as it stands! Honestly, how did you get so disrespectful?"

"Oh, I'm soooo sorry Professor! It's just I've heard dangerous so many times its lost its meaning! Going to a quidditch game, staying out past curfew, sticking a toe in the lake, it's just so much to remember!" Dorea started with a mocking sickly sweet voice, before she wiped the fake smile off her face to yell at her mother.

Her mother pursed her lips, like she'd just sucked on a lemon.

"Don't take that tone with me. My concern is solely for your own good." she said, and if that excuse wasn't worn thin, Dorea was the King of Atlantis.

"Stop that! Stop saying that! This is not for my own good! It is not about my safety, it's about control!" she screamed at her mother, stomping her foot on the ground. Her mother drew back sharply. Dorea wasn't usually so vehement, but for whatever reason she was strained to breaking point.

"You hover around, watching me all the time! You never let me breath, let me be my own person. You control who I'm friends with, where I go, all my classwork!" She was red in the face, and tears were pricking at her eyes.

"I know you scared off that ravenclaw boy, and you have all the other teachers reporting on me! I even found that journal where you record what I eat!" she accused, and her mother winced minutely, proving Dorea's suspicions.

Her mother looked off to the side "I just worry-" she said weakly, but Dorea wasn't having any of it. Not today.

"Oh, please! The only thing you care about is if I'm living up to your impossible standards as a pureblood princess! Little things like my happiness are just inconvenient obstacles!" Dorea screamed at her mother, rage and pain spilling out.

Her mother's gaze hardened, her brief uncertainty vanishing "Maybe when you grow up you'll understand that your responsibilities outweigh your personal desires, but until then we are going back to Hogwarts." her mother said acidly.

Oh, she wanted to play that? Well, if they wanted to just try and hurt each other, Dorea could do that.

"Sounds like you're speaking from personal experience Professor. I bet I can guess what." Dorea's voice dropped low, readying the verbal knife.

Her mother's eyes widened, clearly seeing the opening she had made. Dorea struck before she could back up.

"You never wanted me. I exist just to fulfill your 'responsibility' as a wife" Dorea stabbed the knife in.

All the blood drained from her mother's face.

Dorea had been raised by her father during the early years of her life, and by house elves and nursemaids when he had to work. Her mother had only shown up to hold her or play with her when guests where over, than she was passed back to an actual caretaker and her mother vanished again.

Until her father had died, and suddenly her Mother never gave her space to breath, even following her to Hogwarts.

Hot tears were threatening to spill out. She had to wrap this up to go sob away from her mother. Just one last twist of the knife.

"You're a terrible mother, and the worst part is the only real parent I had died for you!" Now, rip the knife out and let it bleed. "I HATE YOU!" Dorea screamed bitterly, and her mother looked like she'd slapped her, physically drawing back, with a wet sheen on her eyes.

Dorea spun on her heel and sprinted in the direction of Hogwarts, leaving her stunned mother standing in the field. She let the tears flow free down her face, not bothering to look back.

**oooOOOooo**

_Damn. That girl does not pull her punches. _Harry thought to himself as he listened to the exchange with a listening spell and watched with his omocculars as Dorea stormed away, leaving her mother standing still.

Harry was hidden in the trees 34 yards away, under multiple charms. He did feel a little guilty listening in, but it was overshadowed by slacked jaw shock at this version of Bellatrix.

After oblivating Dorea, he had portkeyed her to the origin destination, and left her confused on the ground. He figured one of the teachers would sweep in, as this wasn't a designated portkey site and the faculty would be alerted. Especially given her connection to Volde-, no, Lord Slytherin. He'd half expected Snape to come up the hill. If it had been Albus, Harry would have to book it, and the old man would certainly detect the spells Harry had cast on the girl, revealing him long before he was ready.

But instead a woman had come, and only after a minute of looking at her face did he see the similarities to his cruellest foe.

He had spent far more time than he liked thinking about Bellatrix Lestrange, enough for a lifetime.

When he had first learned she had taken the mantle of Dark Lady following Voldemort's death, he had been exasperated, but nothing more. She was a powerful witch, but not to the same level of Harry. She just didn't know when to quit.

Harry had forgotten the most important rule of war: the most dangerous person is the one with nothing to lose. And Bellatrix capitalized on that, exploding outwards with vicious and violent attacks that filled the streets with corpses.

But even before that, Harry only knew the post-Azkaban witch: stick thin in tattered robes, features far too sharp to be healthy, and at best a loose grip on her sanity. But she was one of the deadly duelists of her generation, and wickedly intelligent.

She had been a being of extremes, hot or cold with no lukewarm options. He recalled during the Battle of Newberry Ron had slain her husband not ten feet from her, and she'd barely reacted. The two simply didn't care about each other.

At the same time, she was desperately in love with Voldemort, to the point of obsession. Privately, Harry suspected that Voldemort never reciprocated her feelings. He only ever cared about himself. And maybe she knew that too. Harry hated the bitch with a passion that even some of the other Order fighters found disturbing, but even he could see she was damaged, broken in some fundamental way.

But this one was different. She still dressed in black, but she wasn't starved. Her curves were obvious even from distance. Her face was fuller, and only after a moment did Harry fully appreciate her beauty. He had heard tales of her looks from the older fighters and Sirius, but he'd never imagined the full extent.

Her cheek bones were still sharp, as was her jaw, but with the glow of healthy skin, and her smokey eyes not boggling around, she was very fetching.

But he had mentally prepared for that, when Dorea revealed her parentage. Looking back, he could see the resemblance, the same sort of speech cadence, the same cut of her jaw. What had blown him away was how much emotion this Bellatrix displayed. He could read true fear on her face, and relief when she had held her daughter. He'd seen the guilt when Dorea accused her, and the hurt when the tennager had laid into her.

Now, as the girl ran away, Bellatrix stood motionless in the center of the field. She wasn't just hurt by her daughters words. She was guilty, and she looked so lost and hopeless Harry felt genuine sympathy for the woman. The idea of a nurturing or motherly Bellatrix seemed to go against the very fabric of reality, and Harry wasn't surprised Dorea had a difficult relationship with her mother. She seemed to hold her father in high regard, and the man had in someway died for Bellatrix.

Now, it appeared Bellatrix had taken a teaching position (and there was an image. The idea of being taught by Lestrange sent shivers down his spine) to be closer to her daughter.

It was clearly going swimmingly.

Still, given the abortive kidnapping Harry had stopped, perhaps her concern was justified. Not that her daughter knew that, given her reaction.

Harry felt a pang as a few tears slipped down the witches face, and she just looked so defeated. Than, all the emotion was swept from her features, and she appeared perfectly composed as she spun to follow her daughter.

And there was another thing. Her daughter. When he had run into her underneath Loc Muinne, she had been a typical snobby pureblood, all poustring and threats. But, she'd realized that by being nice, she could slip out without any trouble, and he had been surprised by her humor. She was witty and sarcastic, and seemed fairly down to earth. It had hurt unexpectedly when she'd seen the monster that lurked beneath his facade, and looked at him in horror.

He had eliminated the brief trauma from her memory, but that was temporary.

Mind charms were delicate and difficult spells, with even a single seam in the memory a possible point of failure. Harry simply did not have the talent. It was probably at least partly his fault that she'd blown up at her mother. He wasn't skilled enough to remove the psychological stress, and the emotions behind it. She was unstable, and had blown up at the first person she'd seen.

But that emotion would remain, and even with her minor occlumency training, she'd realise something was off about her memories. Once the manipulation was discovered, it was only a matter of time before it was undone.

Even though he would never admit it outloud, he had considered just killing the girl. She was a direct descendant of two of his greatest enemies.

But she was also 13 years old and had done nothing to deserve death. Besides, this was a new world, and it would be unfair of him to condemn them based on crimes his versions had committed.

Harry had been inexcusably sloppy. He should have felt the anti-apparition and portkey wards long before the Blood Purists got so close. He also gave away just how little he knew about the world, handing Tom or Albus (or both, and just the idea of those two working together genuinely gave him anxiety). But the worst blunder was showing he was a parseltongue.

It was an extremely rare ability that would cause no end of questions. He might be able to play himself off as another descendant of Salazar, but even so it wasn't an association he wanted. Tom thinking he was a rival for the mantle of lordship was bad, but the worst case was him seeing him as a potential successor.

Of course, it was possible that this version of Riddle wasn't an evil bastard. His granddaughter was targeted by the Purists, which could mean he isn't associated with them.

Not that he'd bet any money on that. It could be a power play within the ranks, or maybe he'd ordered it for political reasons.

It was simply too soon to say. Harry stood up from his prone position, and looked over his shoulder. Yaxley was bound and stunned, and Harry sighed.

He hadn't intended to encounter them so soon. Now, he had a potential wealth of information, but couldn't access it.

He needed more information to figure out what questions to ask, and he would need veritaserum. He could use mind arts to extract things but he could only pull out a few moments, some brief specific information, before the subject died of a cerebral hemorrhage.

So, he needed somewhere to stash Yaxley until he could get his hands on some truth serum, or at worst brew a dose. The only secure area he had at the moment was the bunker, but he hardly had a choice. The reason he had killed the other three was specifically because he knew he had no where to keep them. He had transfigured the corpses into simple rocks, than tossed them around the site.

Additionally, Yaxley lacked any version of the Dark Mark, which hopefully meant the other Purists have no way to track their missing members.

Still, holding him for a long period of time was not something Harry had any practice in. Mostly, he would interrogate any captured Death Eater immediately, followed by a swift execution. But when they did need to keep prisoners, the Order developed a stasis rune to keep prisoners locked away without needed to devote more time to guarding and feeding them.

Harry popped away from Hogsmeade, feeling a pang of sadness at the sight of his boyhood haunts. It was lucky he couldn't see Hogwarts from here, or he doubted he would be able to hold it together.

He arrived back at his bunker with his prisoner, and he felt exhausted. It was maybe 2 o'clock, and his body was crying out for rest. His ribs and shoulder ached from his brief duel, and he was feeling drained. But there was too much to do.

"_But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."_

Ginny had said that to him once, a lifetime ago, saying that the poem captured his endless drive. Although she hadn't phrased it in a positive way. Still, it was a constant refrain for Harry over the years.

Harry levitated Yaxley over onto the cot, and settled onto the floor. He carved a trinity rune on the ground with the tip of his wand, moving quickly but carefully. These runes originally needed an outside powersource, but these would run off the prisoners own magic. Depending on the wizard, it would could run anywhere from a couple weeks to a year.

Yaxley wasn't weak, so he could probably live for a month, maybe up to 9 weeks, but anything after that was pushing it.

It took 45 minutes to finish the rune, and then he laid Yaxley out, carefully linking his magic to the rune, and watching as the lines lit with white energy.

Now that all the complications had been at least somewhat managed, it was time to head to the Caldwells private island.

**Authors Notes**

**Alright, this expanded a lot more than I thought it would. All reviews are welcomed, but if you flame me I reserve the right to add more of the thing you complain about just out of pure spite. And if you're offended by that statement than it's working as intended.**


	3. Of Barter and Brewing

**Authors Note**

**Okay, it should be noted that I know nothing about Victorian mansions, gardening practices or small islands in the area around Scotland, so please be forgiving of any errors. If you do see any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.**

Harry left the bunker, and two quick apparitions later, he arrived on the coast about 18 miles away from the the warded island.

Standing on the sandy beach, Harry realized he was being sloppy with so much direct apparition. A nasty habit since he'd been in this new world, with the marvel of not being hunted.

Yet.

_Moody would have my head if he saw such stupidity. To think I saw him as paranoid back in the day, he was the only one to stay on his toes. _Harry shook his head. _He's probably alive in this world. It'd be nice to talk to him again. He always cut through the crap with me. _

Harry stood there for a moment, staring at the sea, and the faces of all those he'd lost flashed before him. Almost too many to count. Maybe he could see them all again…

Harry started violently. _No. The people in this world are __not_ _your family. My family and friends are dead, and nothing can bring them back. Longing will only lead to disappointment. _Just the same way he couldn't hate his old enemies, he couldn't expect the versions of his old friends to be the same.

Better to exercise any hope early, before it spread its roots too deep.

Harry waved his wand grandly, simultaneously disillusioning himself and flying into the air. He flew forward, into the still chilly wind. _Only a person who never left Britain would think this counts a summer retreat. _Harry groused as he levitated the 8.3 miles to the unplottable island.

It took longer than he liked, but the warming charms in his armor prevented major discomfort. Finally, he arrived at the spot. To the outside observer, it was just another section of featureless gray ocean, but Harry could feel the ward magic obscuring the place from normal sight.

Harry transfigured a bit of the water into a stationary platform, and quickly set himself down. The wind whipped around him, and he could taste the salt and harsh breeze. Harry pointed his rosewood directly forward, and stretched his will out.

At the end of the day, controlling magic was all about willpower. Incantations and wand movements were important, but if one was mentally strong enough they could exude their vision, shifting the world in accordance of their wishes. This was especially true of warding.

In the simplest sense, wards were a way for a Mage to leave their will in a certain place. There were fancier rules and conditions layered on top, but the underlying principle remained constant.

The wards of the Caldwell estate still retained the iron will of their caster, the desire to bar all strangers from the family estate.

Most ward-breakers did just what their names said; they used their will to overpower the casters, destroying the shields and battering down the defenses. It was effective and could be performed by lower skilled mages, but it was loud and unsubtle. Harry prefered a different approach.

Instead of ripping through, he interacted with the wards, and manually tripped the elements that would allow safe entry. Even the tightest wards had some method to allow egress, and as such it bypassed all the defensive countermeasures.

The processes could be compared to picking a lock versus kicking the door in. This also meant he could keep the wards in place, saving him the trouble of creating a whole new set of wards from scratch. He could simply move in, only needed to slightly modify the wards to allow him in as a permanent resident, and he'd be set.

Of course, he'd add on some extra defenses as well. These wards were a few decades out of date, and in his world some of the infrastructure had to be replaced.

Already being familiar with the Caldwell wards, it only took Harry 15 minutes to bypass the blood test and trick the ward scheme into recognizing him as an authorized entrant. Finally, there was the test of intent.

Under normal circumstances, these wards that detected ill will towards occupants were the major hurdle. It was possible to place oneself in a meditative trance to remove any violent thoughts, or even to charm yourself into not wishing violence on anyone.

Luckily, with all the Caldwells dead, Harry naturally felt no desire to harm any of them, thus bypassing the hardest part of the process.

Feeling the tendrils of foreign magic pawing over him raised the hairs on the back of his neck, but they grudgingly let him pass.

The air shimmered in front him, like mist burning off in hot sunlight, and the grey ocean was replaced with a windswept black rock. It rose 10 feet above the cresting waves. Harry flicked his wrist, vanishing the board and lifting himself into air.

He rose up over the top, and surveyed his new home. The island wasn't very large, about twice the size of the Hogwarts courtyard, mostly comprised of a large manor house styled in victorian fashion. Still, it had a large lawn of green grass, flower beds and some small hedgerows.

However, after 40 years of neglect, the whole place looked rather run down. The white paint was peeling off in large flakes, a couple windows were broken under the assault of the sea, but the worst part was the garden. The grass was long and shagging, coming up to Harry's calfs. Some of it had stretched out past the protective wards, and wilted under the barrage of saltwater. The flower beds were filled with weeds, the delicate blooms long since choked out by sturdier plants.

The hedges bulged out, branches skewering out uncontrollably. Harry strolled up the overgrown lawn, the paths lost in the overgrowth, and came up to the main doors.

But rather than go into the house, he went around to a flowerbed by protected by a small wall. Within, concealed under a thick layer of dirt lay a shriveled little corpse.

Harry bent to one knee, and closed his eyes. A moment of silence for the innocent creature left here to die.

When the family had been wiped out, the House elf assigned to tend to their summer home was forgotten. It must have waited for years, dutifully carrying out its duties even as it became clear it was trapped on this forsaken rock. It could have left, but the Caldwells either hadn't considered the possibility that their elf would be left behind, or they hadn't cared.

The elf had ate through the larder, than planted some potatoes in the back of the house. It had finally died of old age a few decades ago, lying itself down in a cleared bed, probably to make as little mess as possible.

And Harry didn't even know its name.

It had been so impacted by a war it had nothing to do with, and Harry often thought about it, the creature standing at the edge of its prison, staring off into the sea, hoping beyond hope that its masters would return. It was a sad, cruel fate.

And it was an unknown one. If Harry didn't remember this elf, who would?

"May you find peace in the world after." Harry whispered to the body, than with a simple spell sent it a few feet deeper underground. Than, he transfigured a bit of the stone wall into a marker, inscribed with 'Here lies a forgotten House Elf, left alone by war and bound by magic, they were trapped on this isle. But they did not forget their duty, and neither should you.'

Harry stood from the dirt, and went back to the front door. The grand oak doors remained strong, if somewhat dulled by the beating wind. It was unlocked, and Harry pushed it open, letting the wind billow in, kicking up the thick layer of dust that had accumulated in the entrance hall. Harry stepped in, and cast his eyes around.

Unlike Grimmauld Place, the Caldwell manor was full of open spaces, with large windows and sweeping curves. The floor were a lighter wood, with a full thick rugs colored in the family colors of red and gold. Dominating the entrance was a fireplace, with the family crest looming over any visitors. A golden dragon on a red, with the motto underneath.

"Hoc est potentia auri. This is the Power of Gold. Might as well have gone with 'look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair" Harry muttered sarcastically.

The house was coated in a thick layer of dust, and Harry coughed a little, absently casting a bubble head charm on himself. All the furniture was covered in dust sheets, assumedly the elf's doing. Seeing as everything up until now was the same, he made a beeline for the emergency stash. There was a safe in the Lords study, filled with documents and some artifacts that Harry would crack into later, but one of the Caldwells was clever.

In the back, there was an enclosed glass pavilion filled with potted plants, all but one of the plants had died due to lack of watering. It had been Neville who had discovered the small safe when he'd examined the plant to figure out how it had survived.

Harry walked up to the still blooming shrub, and the large ceramic jar it came out of. He yanked the shrub out, the enchanted plants roots only stretching about half an inch into the soil. Harry reached into the soil and felt around for a small metal handle, before pulling up a tubular metal lockbox, about 20 inches long and 3 inches wide.

Knocking it to dislodge any loose soil, Harry brought it over to a low table and and set it down. Other than the metal loop for a handle, it was perfectly smooth and seamless. It was a blood lock, and bypassing it normally would be very difficult.

But Harry had a skeleton key, in the form of a little vial of green venom. He pulled out the basilisk venom, and carefully summoned a single drop close to the tip of his wand.

It was dangerous, but he also really didn't want to waste it. It was, ounce for ounce, the most expensive magical liquid, just edging out Phoenix tears.

Harry put the drop up to the top of the cylinder, and the metal immediately hissed and dissolved, running in dirty rivulets down the side of the lockbox, burning a streak into it. The venom drop shrunk steadily as he ran it around the circumference of the container, only just making it before the venom was gone.

Like a can opener, Harry levitated the top off the, trying to ensure none of the melted metal contaminated the galleons. Harry smirked at the pile of gold, untouched by the passage of time.

With a thought, the coins jumped up into his waiting wallet. In a moment, they disappeared inside the magically large pouch. Harry tossed the bag into the air, letting it fall, counting the coins magically.

1,632. Good, but he was still 1,200 short. So, time to gather up everything fit to pawn. Harry pulled out his enlarged satchel. His thigh bag didn't have a large enough opening for this.

His first stop was the kitchen, where the Cadwells silver cutlery (lightly enchanted) and fine china vanished into his bag. A few old bottles of wines joined them, as did the glasses and heavy tumblers. Than the pots and pans, all enchanted to more evenly cook food. Onto the hallways.

Every few feet was a small table with glass flower vases with withered blooms inside. The dead plants were dumped onto the floor and the vases went into the satchel. There were many bedrooms, all with enchanted candlesticks that were dumped in.

All this was good, though the few items adorned with the Caldwell seal avoided the bag. It wouldn't do for the black market fence to know where he acquired these items.

Also in the bedrooms where some personal items, mirrors, whalebone combs, some cigars, and some enchanted silk bathrobes, all of which vanished into the satchel.

Then came the real prize, Lady Caldwell and her daughters jewelry boxes in the master bedroom. A couple pendants were stamped with the seal, but a king's ransom in necklaces, earrings, rings, bracelets and brooches were up for the taking.

Finally, he came up to the Lord Caldwells study. The gold inlaid set of quills and ink pots were worth a bit, as was an enchanted pocket watch. Than the wall safe, behind a portrait because most purebloods didn't have an original thought in their heads.

It was a portrait of the last Caldwell Lord, Lewis. The figure was asleep, and Harry had no desire to chat. A quick charm made the sleep permanent, than he pulled the portrait off the wall, revealing the grey steel of the vault, seamless like the lock box. Due to the larger size, it took a larger drop of venom to dissolve the locking lugs holding it shut.

He was nearly out of the venom, but it was important to get this one open.

Inside the musty old safe was a stack of parchment roll, legal documents mostly, a set of family rings that Harry gave a wide berth, and three old wands. All worthless to Harry. But there were two items of value. One was a goblin crafted necklace coated in diamonds, for special occasions, and the other was a small black stone. The ward key. It would give him master access to the wards. The necklace went into the satchel, and the stone into his thigh bag.

With the house thoroughly looted, Harry walked outside. The wind was howling, and he could see storm clouds in the distance. It was a little early for the black market, but Harry was itching to get moving. He walked to the eastern edge of island, and jutting out from the rock was the cornerstone. Made of the same black stone as the ward key, it was a pyramid 4 feet wide at the base, and about half again as tall. It's placement was probably the single biggest security flaw here. It should have been kept somewhere in the cellar or in a heavily protected area, having it so exposed just made it the first target. Once it was destroyed, all the wards would fail, and then you'd be doubly screwed. That was how Malfoy's forces had brought down the island in his world.

Harry pulled the key out, and tapped it with his wand. "Aditum permittere" he said clearly, before tapping himself. That gave him unrestricted access to the island, including portkey and apparition privileges.

Tucking the key away, Harry pulled out his third glamor ring. Sliding it on, he shifted into a stereotypic dark wizard. Long greasy hair hung around a pitched rat face. Several teeth were missing, and those that remained were yellowed. His eyes bulged out, and overall there was a shifty, hunched vibe. He pulled out a piece of parchment and quickly wrote down all the ingredients and supplies he would need. It would be best to make the buyers think he was just a middleman.

Harry twitched left to right, ensuring he looked like a junkie, and slung the satchel casually over his shoulder. His goal was not to look like someone skilled or talented enough to be using the equipment he was buying, just the help running around picking up supplies for an Master or organization. There were dozens of them cluttering up knockturn alley, and no one would bat an eye at him.

**oooOOOooo**

With a deliberately loud crack, Harry landed just inside the mouth of alley. A few hooded figures snapped their heads over to look at him, but on seeing his face they relaxed. He wasn't some average wizard coming here for a thrill.

Knockturn was the filthy reverse of Diagon, and it mostly held the refuse of the wizarding world. Criminals, addicts, or those so weak they couldn't find any magical employment. It was their home, and so they disliked squeaky clean wizards coming to gawk at them.

Harry scurried off the street quickly, and into the main artery of black market trade, Borgin and Burkes. The dingy little shop was a one stop shop for a variety of illegal goods, and it was the best place to go if one didn't have connections deeper in the alley. Despite the dingy appearance of the shop, Mr. Borgin was rumored to be very wealthy. Although he did have to pay a mountain in bribes to keep his business from being raided.

The dark shop was empty, and it looked just how Harry remembered it; macabre and gruesome artifacts littering the shelfs, mummified hands, bones and bloody cards. All of it was set dressing, the few magical items were fairly tame and the rest was just there to scare away any inexperienced buyers. The real stuff was all hidden behind the counter.

Borgin looked at him critically, his eyes sweeping over him, evaluating. He quickly settled into an imperious sneer, as nothing Harry was wearing screamed money or status. Coming up to the counter, Harry laid the satchel on the ground and peered suspiciously around.

"Whatcha want?" Borgin rasped, sneer still firmly in place. "I recently, uh, acquired some items. Owners no longer needed them, ya see? Heard you buy things all quiet like, no questions asked." Harry put on his best accent, and kept fidgeting during.

Borgin glared at him suspiciously. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Show me." he was being cautious. Harry pulled the satchel open and started with the silverware. He dumped the cutlery onto the counter, the noise echoing through the shop. Borgin picked up one of the forks and examined it with a jeweler's glass.

"Real sterling silver, that. Enchanted too." Harry said with a nod. Borgin checked another few pieces, before he nodded, and relaxed a little. "Aye, it is. Fine craftsmanship, too." He said, his sneer dropping slightly.

"Just the tip of the iceberg governor. You mind locking the door? Don't want to get walked in on, ya see?" Harry rasped, looking over his shoulder. Borgin pulled out his wand and pointed it at the door. A loud click echoed through the store, and Harry made a point of slightly relaxing his tense stance.

Without further ado, Harry pulled out the plates, bowls, vases, mirrors and combs. Borgin raised his eyebrows slightly, but went to work examining at least one piece of each, nodding with satisfaction as each proved genuine.

"Good. Good. This all worth a bit. Anything else?" he asked with a greedy glint in his eyes. Harry pulled the jewelry out, and the greed enveloped the mans face. He looked through the gold, breathing fast. The diamond necklace practically made Borgin drool. It was a little sickening, but as long as he paid Harry didn't really care.

Once Borgin had looked at all the pieces, he cast his eye up at Harry "I'll give 800 for the lot." he said, his calculating. It was a lowball price, trying to see if the buyer was serious.

Harry balked at the man, drawing back "800?! I could melt all this down and sell the metal to goblins for that much! It's a steal at 2000 mate." Harry responded, setting the upper limit of negotiations. Borgins smiled, and they both launched into it.

"2000!? I have to turn around and sell this stuff, and if I pay that I won't even break even. 1000 is as high as I can go."

"Oh please, the diamond necklace alone is worth that much, and all this will sell like hotcakes. 18 hundred is the least I can take."

"Without a juicy story, it's just a pretty piece of bling. 11."

Harry threw his hands in the air "Than make a story up if it matters so much to ya. I ain't walking out of here with less than 16. End of discussion."

Borgin eyes flicked between the pile of items on his counter and Harry's face, before he turned to the side.

"1100 is as high as I can go." he said hesitantly, and Harry was irritated. Both men knew that this was worth far more. Borgin must have been tighter for money than usual. Still, he might be able to use this.

"Look mate, you seem a decent bloke, but I need to unload this stuff now… well, maybe we can help each other." Harry said slowly, and internally chuckled at the flash of hope on the old withered face.

"See, a friend of mine is in need of some potion and rune equipment. Fire destroyed his whole set up, ya see? If you can part with a few caldrons, and maybe set something up with a discreet ingredient seller, I could part with this for 1100. My mate'll pay me back." Harry said, sweeping his hand around grandly.

"What's your 'friend' need?" Borgin asked, always eager to offload some of his stockpile.

Harry gave him a toothy grin, and pulled out the piece of parchment. "Lets see.. Alright, two iron cauldrons, standard size, one copper cauldron, 1 quart. Wooden cutting board, knifes, mixing spoons and all the usual stuff. Plus two dozen 4 ounce unbreakable vials, six 8 ounce flasks and six stubby two ounce vials. Next, a rune chisel, a 2 pound block of moonstone, and 6 unidirectional focusing crystals." Harry rattled off quickly, and Borgin nodded at it, only sighing at the end.

"I got all of that expect the crystals. Ministry controlled and regulated, you understand." Borgin shrugged "But I can tell you where to go for them, and I've got a guy, he can get you plant or animal part you can dream of. Sound good?" he said quickly and eagerly.

Harry smirked "Sounds good to me guv'nor." Borgin smiled, and quickly darted into the backroom. He emerged a few moments later, with a large coin purse and levitating his requested supplies. Harry swept his wand and the Caldwell loot was pushed to the side. He inspected the supplies, and nodded with satisfaction.

Borgin also laid out two smooth disks marked with his sigil. They were for introduction, and were specially enchanted to ensure authenticity. "Runes are on the second floor of the Goats Head, look for the drunk old bastard in blue. For potions go down the street, make a turn at the Waverlys, it's the building with the black rose. Ask for Sweaty."

Harry put everything in the satchel , and tossed the coin purse. 1100. He'd gotten the equipment for a song, meaning he'd have more left over. That went into his thigh bag. "Cheers. Great doing business with ya." Harry turned and headed for the door, with Borgin unlocking it.

"Any more stuff like this lands in your lap, I trust you'll think of me." Borgin called out, already looking over his new prizes. Harry waved over his shoulder and slipped out the door. He moved quickly down the street, not wanting to have to fight off any petty burglars. The Goats Head was the main watering hole in Knockturn, a dilapidated building filled with smoke and hooded figures. Harry pushed his way in, trying not to grimace at the smell of sweat and filth that the bar carried. There were a few burly wizards standing around, wands conspicuously out, who glared at him. They were here to keep the peace, and their word was law. The bartender was an old, scared woman who glared at Harry, which was a surprise. In his world, it had been a bald man with one eye.

He made his way upstairs, looking for the runemaster in blue. On the upper balcony, a man is robes that once might have been blue was passed out in a chair, his wispy hair clinging to his pale skull, reminding Harry of a hard boiled egg dropped in lint.

Still, he walked up and tapped the man's shoulder, and the little man jumped into the air, spinning around. "I paid my bill, leave me alone you-wait, you're not one of the madams thugs." He said in single breath, fixing Harry with a stare. He held up Borgins calling card, and the man took it instantly, tapping it with his wand and muttering. It glowed blue, and the man relaxed just a bit.

Back in his world, the rumor had been that this man was a former gringotts warder, but was kicked out for trying to sleep with his bosses daughter. Who was a goblin, which effectively made him an outcast among wizards as well. Harry wasn't sure if any of that was true, but the man was extremely skilled at runes, and somehow came into possession of restricted materials easily.

Maybe he had gotten some scaly tail. Harry wasn't one to judge.

"Young people these days, no manners, honestly scared the tits off me." He muttered, pocketing the token. "Well, I don't have all night, tell me what you want, than fuck off!" he snapped at Harry.

_Yep, his personality is still the same._ Harry thought to himself. "I need 6 unidirectional focusing crystals, grade 3 at minimum" he said confidently, not bothering to sit down. The runemaster glared at him, but dug into his robes. He might have quoted an outrageous price, but the calling card told him Harry not some wet nosed novice he could scam.

"245, no haggling." he commanded, and Harry summoned the coins out. The runemaster shoved the crystals into his hand, pocketing the gold and shooing Harry away. He took the hint, not bothering to inspect the crystals as he slid them into his bag.

Trust was the main currency in the underworld, and questioning someone without cause could get you killed, or worse. When your life's on the line, providing the correct products was a necessity.

Harry slipped out of the bar quickly, keeping his head down. Outside, night was falling and the light was falling away. Harry knew the way to the Rose, and moved with swift purpose down the street.

No one stopped him. Weaving through the beggars, he came into the store, or rather the front counter. There was only about 2 feet between it and the door, with most of the floorspace hidden from view.

The counter had a black curtain behind it, and suddenly a slim, handsome young man poked his head out. Skinny, as he had been known in Harry's world, was the shop runner when he had rolled in after losing Hogwarts and its greenhouses. But apparently he wasn't running it now.

"Don't know you." he said coldly, his face pinched.

Harry held up the token, saying "I was told Sweaty was the man to talk to."

The young man snatched the token away, disappearing behind the curtain. Harry just made out some snatches of conversation, before the curtain was flung aside and an enormously fat wizard stepped out. He was coated in a thin layer of sweat, and his pig eyes bulged out at Harry.

"What do you need?" he growled lowly, annoyance seeping from him, as well as the smell of old cured meat.

"Two bunches of hemlock, a liter of dragon's blood, two pints of Amortentia, 5 ounces powdered unicorn horn, a half pound of mandrake leaves, a crocodile heart, a half ounce of opoponax, a packet of shaved silver and platinum, a dram of manticore venom, a stem of mistletoe, a newt's eye, a quarter pound of fluxweed, 6 ice golem fingers, a half ounce of powdered hornroot and a full gallon of water essence." Harry listed out calmly, and Sweaty stood there, just staring at him.

"You starting a fuckin apothocary?" he asked after a moment. "Yeah, and clocks ticking. You have this shit or not?" Harry snarled at him. He was tired, and dealing with these people was draining his patience. And he still had two more stops to make.

Sweaty curled his lip, but nodded. "It'll cost ya 830, and not a knut less." he said, eyes burning with anger. Harry summoned the gold out, and Sweaty made a point of counting out the gold slowly, and biting down on several to confirm their authenticity.

When he was finally satisfied he was not being scammed, Sweaty turned and vanished behind the curtain, barking orders at his assistant.

It took nearly 15 minutes for them to grab everything, and Harry was worried the smell of this place was seeping into his bones.

After an agonizing wait, Sweaty returned with a pile of bags and bottles, and Harry checked to make sure they weren't shorting him. All the shit was there, and Harry put it into his satchel , spinning on his heel to head out into the street. The man was a shit, and Harry's patience was at an end.

Once Harry was back out onto the street, he made his way deeper into the alley, heading for a hovel tucked away in a quiet side street. Just before he stepped inside, Harry switched his glamor rings to the blond pureblood, and disillusioned the satchel. It didn't go with the rest of the get up.

The hovel was surprisingly homely on the inside, with large illusory windows making it seem like they were in the middle of a pleasant meadow rather than a run down slum. Behind the counter, a sharply dressed man sat writing with a quill, and gave him a thin smile as Harry walked.

The Forger.

Like most serious merchants in Knockturn, his name was a mystery. It was whispered he was always in polyjuice, or that he could steal faces. It hardly mattered.

He was invaluable, because somehow he could edit the official ministry rolls, a talent that meant he was untouchable to the various underworld gangs.

Knockturn alley was often the site of brutal wars over territories with different families and gangs rising and falling. They controlled illegal drugs, potion sales, assassinations and protection rackets.

It was an issue of supply and demand. Even if the Aurors took out one gang, another was more than happy to step into the void. However, by the same token, they all were bound by unspoken rules to ensure profitability, most notable the skilled merchants could only be touched with the consensus of the underworld leadership, who met in a nameless seedy brothel so deep in the alley no ministry employee would dare venture into it.

From there, they held council on important issues, and there word was law. And the price for breaking their code was high.

In Harry's world, a junkie had at one point attacked the Forger, wounding him and stealing his coin purse. The junkie had been found a day later, strung up near the forgers house, his insides splayed open, but still alive. He'd begged every passerby for death, but nobody granted it. It took him five agonizing days to die.

Even in the empty room, the Forger wasn't truly alone. Harry sensed two wizards standing on either side of the desk under invisibility cloaks, likely pointing their wands at him.

"Good evening my friend! What can I help you with today?" he asked charmingly, teeth flashing. Harry gave him a small smile "Well, it appears that I lost all my identity papers in a recent fire, and I was told that you could help me replace them. For a suitable fee, of course." Harry smoothly sat down in the chair, and the Forger set his quill down.

"My condolences. Now, when you say 'all' what do you mean? That will determine the fee." the Forger asked, reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment "Birth certificate, school records, NEWT exam results, an apparition license for the UK, a passport and of course all the minor documents in between. Thorough, but not overly so." Harry listed quickly as the Forger scribbled rapidly. This identity was unlikely to hold up, but he could use it to through off pursuers and sow confusion about who he really was. It helped that there was no true identity in this reality, meaning he could do whatever he wanted.

The Forger nodded "Name?"

"Sebastian Grey. Born April 5th, 1970. Half-blood, homeschooled, took NEWT's summer of 1987. Average student, but O in transfiguration and charms, nothing above A anywhere else. Wand, 10 inch Rosewood with Phoenix tail core, custom. I'm sure you can fill out all of the rest." Harry said was a dismissive wave. The details were irrelevant, and the Forger could be very creative.

The Forger cast an eye up at Harry, his smile unchanging. "Capital. I can have your package ready by next wednesday, but I am afraid that I will require payment upfront." he said, and Harry felt the two guards tense. But he remained calm and loose. It was a standard tactic to see if he was a new face.

He could have asked Borgin for a calling card for the Forger, but that would have given him more information than Harry was comfortable with.

"Of course. How much?" He said with a vapid grin.

"Nine hundred and, oh 900 flat will cover it." The forger said, and Harry pulled out his coin purse and with a flick the fee was on the desk. The guards relaxed a little, their internal magic no longer feeling so deadly.

"Thank you very much sir. See you in a week." the Forger said, and Harry gave him a nod and a final smile, than he was out the door.

He headed towards the meeting point with Diagon alley. Right near the entrance was a large crappy bookstore. Harry slipped in and moved to the section on recent history, and began searching for titles that interested him.

"The Blood Purist Menace and the Sunday Massacre, 1976-1992" was plucked out instantly, as was "The Man Who Would be Slytherin." "Albus Dumbledore, a Biography" joined it, and Harry searched through before one title jumped out at him. "The Boy Who Lived, Theories and Speculation."

Harry swiftly pulled the book open, and read the foreword.

**There are only a few certainties things in magic, bluebell fire is harmless, conjuration requires equal energy to mass created, and things hit by the killing curse die. Except for infant Neville Longbottom, who was found with the unmistakable magical energy of the killing curse in his system, but somehow was still alive on Halloween Night of 1982. Many theories have been proposed as to how he survived, and this book serves as a collection of them, as well as a repudiation of several that persist despite being thoroughly disproved. **

_So, Neville is the one saddled with that title in this reality. The more things change, the more things stay the same. That explains why his parents died on Halloween._

Harry added the book to the pile, as well as "Neville Longbottom, the Unofficial Biography" on the same shelf. A newer book titled "Resurgence, the Blood Purist's New Dark Lord" and that was added. A broad overview text rounded things out, and Harry went over to the counter, where a bored teenage girl disinterestedly rung him up. It cost a total of only 2 galleons and 6 shickles. Harry stuffed it all into his bag, and then he was gone.

He apparated to the outskirts of London, than bounced all over the south of England in 5 jumps, than to a field in Wales, startling several cows, before he hopped over the channel to Ireland, than to the Upper edge of Scotland. There he waited for a few moments, to see if anyone was following him.

Standing on the cold beach, he watched the sun set. When the last ray faded, he apparated back to the island.

**oooOOOooo**

Harry walked into the cold house, making his way to the kitchen. He pulled the glamor ring off, and dumped the satchel nearby.

He pulled out the iron and copper cauldrons, and setting the iron over a burner, and the copper in the icebox. A few lumos charms filled the light fixtures, and Harry tiredly laid out the out the mandrake leaves. They needed to steep in the water essence, along with three drops of dragon's blood, for 2 hours.

The water essence was thick, nearly gelatinous, and he had to scrape a bit out with a wooden spoon. He turned the burner on to the lowest setting, because high heat would degrade the essence. Now, he waited for it to slowly come up to temperature. Harry grabbed the book on Lord Slytherin first, and began reading.

**Buried in the eastern part of an industrial section of London, Wool's Orphanage is a dreary sight. A plain building of grey bricks, with small windows and a dying garden, the muggles who run it only provide the bare necessities to their charges. If one were to claim this was the birthplace for one of the most powerful and politically minded wizards of his generation, you could be forgiven for laughing. But it was the home of Tom Marvolo Riddle, heir of Slytherin, for the first ten years of his life.**

**Young Riddle always knew he was different. He was mocked by the muggles as a freak, but from a young age he harnessed his magic to defend himself. He later stated that his only real friends were the garden snakes, and he would spend hours in the dirt talking with them. The matrons thought he was touched in the head, and often attempted to beat the 'strangeness' out of him. It was a dark time, until Headmaster Armando Dippet arrived just before Riddle's 11th birthday to share the truth, that he was different and special from the muggles he was forced to live with. That he was a Wizard.**

"**I wept joyous tears, knowing that all those taunts and slurs were not true, that I was not alone, not some malformed freak." Lord Slytherin recalled to me, a look of far away rapture on his face. Headmaster Dippet saw the young man's potential, and his harsh treatment, and made a fateful decision. He sought and received permission for the young man to live with a friendly family, the Carrows, rather than remain at the Orphanage. Amycus Carrow Senior was about to enter Hogwarts as well, and the two became fast friends. Lady Carrow also loved Riddle, later calling him "...a son, just as much as Amycus." Lord Carrow was reportedly less fond of the boy, but he was won over slowly by the intellect and magical prowess Riddle showed. **

**But it was the revelation of his ability to talk to snakes that sent Riddle on the path to Lordship. "I had gone out to the garden, just a couple of days before heading to Hogwarts, and was happily conversing with a snake when Mrs. Carrow discovered me. I had thought she had left, and scared that she would react the way the women who ran the orphanage did, with beatings and threats. I was even worried that she would send me back. Instead, she told me that it was a gift, a rare gift. She summoned Mr. Carrow home, and the two took me to the ministry."**

**Tom took a blood heritage test, and discovered he was the last living heir of Salazar Slytherin. News of one of the Founders bloodline being rediscovered spread like wildfire, and by the time he arrived at Hogwarts it was common knowledge. He was sorted into the house his ancestor founded, and swiftly proved himself as one of its brightest young wizards. **

**Year later, he would go further, discovering the Chamber of Secrets, and his ancestors study sealed within. He also bonded with the massive Basilisk in the Chamber, pledging that it would eternally defend the school. He also took back his true name in 1946, with Headmaster Dippet and the Carrow family sitting in the Wizengamot chamber. The famously sober and austere family and schoolmaster let out cheers when the motion was passed, and Tom Marvolo was granted the Lordship of Slytherin. **

**Since that day, no political debate of substance has happened without Lord Slytherins opinion being given weight. His magical power grew, and in 1950 he was officially recognized as an Archmage, standing alongside the only other British archmage, Albus Dumbledore. **

Harry cocked an eyebrow at the brief introduction. So, if he had to guess the diverging incident was Dippet deciding to go see Riddle instead of Albus. He wondered if this was better or worse than in his reality. He doubted Slytherin was particularly sympathetic towards Muggleborns, and the idea of him having lasting political power was deeply disturbing. Not to mention the Carrows. The Amycus Carrow Jr. of his world was a total prick with a fondness for torture, only to be slain by Luna after he had captured and mutilated her. He had let her get her hands on his wand, thinking she was helpless.

He paged forward, and read a very flattering account of the Gaunts. Their fall from power and prominence was treated as a tragedy of circumstances. Thomas Riddle was painted as a total bastard, seducing Merope and than abandoning her while she was pregnant. No mention of love potions was made, but Harry doubted they hadn't played a role. Thomas and the Riddles died soon after Tom first went to Hogwarts, which was likely not a coincidence. He was sure Lord Carrow had no desire to lose the political asset he had found to his birth father, and eliminated the problem.

The next three chapters were dedicated to Toms time in Hogwarts, with dozens of former teachers and students lining up to praise him, but Harry noticed there was almost no mention of Albus. He probably saw through Toms mask, and saw the calculating boy as a threat. The author painted Tom as a prince of the whole school, and a model student. He became prefect, than Head Boy, and graduated top of his class.

The next chapter went into detail of how he worked with Lord Carrow in the Wizengamot, and built up connections and favors to become a full Lord. There was opposition, but Tom was a skilled manipulator and he managed to convince a slim majority to support him. It was quite the coup for him to gain a lordship when it was well known his father was a muggle.

Than he sprang into action as a Lord, proving he was a skilled hand at business, making a fortune in broomsticks and firewhiskey. He didn't stay quiet on politics, making impassioned speeches for or against numerous bills.

The author seemed to think this was all civic minded, or founded in deep seeded convictions. But Harry noticed that many of the same purebloods who voted for Toms lordship were deeply involved in the bills he spoke on. It looked like Tom had debts to pay.

Before he got further, the cauldron was finally up to temperature. Harry stood up, and looked in to see the water essence had thinned considerably, more like a thin syrup. Harry killed the heat and dumped all of the mandrake leaves it, not mixing. Than, he gently added three drops of dragon's blood to the exact center of the pot, watching as the nearly black liquid slowly spread out. This was the base for Devil's blood. Harry left the caldron sitting where it was, and pulled out the second iron caldron.

He filled a pitcher with water from the house (thank Merlin for magical plumbing) and poured it in, along with the crocodile heart, minced into fine cubes, and all the fluxweed. This would eventually become a standard healing potions, much less severe in nature than the Devil's Blood.

He spelled a spoon to stir the mixture, 2 times counterclockwise, 4 times clockwise, trace an 8 point star, than repeat until the mixture reached a rolling boil.

Normally, adding in the ambient magic from the charm would throw off the potion, but in this case no magical plants were present, so it would be fine. It was a fairly non reactive potion.

While that was going, Harry retrieved the copper caldron from the icebox and placed it on the table. He added the manticore venom, the mistletoe and ice golem fingers, and began stirring. Clockwise 18 times, counterclockwise 6, repeat until the color of the venom changed from green to a light silvery blue.

Without Snape looming over him, it turned out Harry was a competent potion brewer. It was similar to cooking, only with much more restrictive instructions. In the cold copper, he would make something very dangerous.

The basic idea of a potion grenade was just to take two potions that exploded when mixed together inside seated vials, break the inner one and throw it. They had been used by lower skilled mages for decades, but Harry had always prefered his own variety. Rather than a fiery explosion, this one was an ice bomb. It produced a shockwave of air chilled to about 1 kelvin, as the muggles called it.

Fire was one of the easiest elemental forces to call upon, and one of the easiest to defend against. But freezing was less common, and it had a special ability to bypass dragonscale armor, which was designed to stop combat magic, not the cold. In the first few times Harry had used them, the grenades resulted in dozens of enemy casualties before the Dark forces had wised up.

This would be the interior fluid, the smaller amount seated in a larger amount of reactant. It took 18 minutes of stirring before the potion reached the desired color, and Harry added a newt's eye, which instantly bubbled and hissed as it dissolved. It was basically done, but the venom needed a few hours to fully dissolve the other ingredients. Harry returned the caldron to the ice box, and checked the water crocodile mixture. Tiny wisps of steam were coming off, but it was still a ways off.

Harry sat back down and grabbed the book. He flipped to a new chapter, entitled "Seeking Vengeance."

**January of 1950 was a good month for Lord Slytherin. He invested in a French Potion maker, finally expanding beyond Great Britain, and with his help the Werewolf restoration act was soundly defeated, ensuring the safety of ordinary wizards. On the 28th, he and Lord Notts family were having lunch at the lavish new Slytherin estate, located only a few miles from the Carrows estate. They were not home, as with the birth of Amycus Junior the family was taking some time to vacation in Italy. Bridget Carrow, the new mother was less than thrilled about being expected to traipse around hot locals mere weeks after giving birth. Lord Slytherin was looking after their investments in the meantime.**

**Without warning, the fireplace erupts. Its an Auror. There has been an incident in Italy. The Lord must come at once. With only a couple of words to his guests, Slytherin hastened through the floo. **

**In Italy 3 hours previously, the Carrows were in Florence, and were taking in the sights in the historic plaza de magia, one of the largest wizard only spaces in Europe. It was at that moment that the Necromancer Morte de Scemo activated a ritual circle, trapping the souls of all those in the plaza, and draining their magic. The withered corpses fell, and Lord Carrows body was found wrapped around his wife and son, trying to shield them. 137 witches and wizards died in less than a minute, the worst single loss since Grindelwalds war. Their souls were gathered in a great crystal, burning with a blinding light. By the time Auror's arrived, Morte had vanished with his prize.**

**At the ministry, the young Lord is told what happened by a grim faced Italian Auror. His only thought is of baby Amycus.**

**Both the infant and his mother had survived, albeit only by moments. Amycus junior had begun crying loudly, and his mother took him back to the hotel, telling her husband to stay and see the sights. He died 12 minutes later. **

**Lord Slytherin wasted no time in portkeying to Italy. He comforted his best friends widow, who was beside herself with grief and guilt, and cradled his godson, who seemed to understand something was wrong and would not stop crying. He also collected the bodies of his foster family.**

"**They were my saviors, my true family. Looking at their bodies, I just felt numb. Like it was a terrible nightmare that I was going to eventually wake up from. It couldn't be true, I was sure." said Slytherin years later. But the nightmare was only just beginning. Slytherin learned that his families souls were in the possession of their murderer, and currently there were no leads on him. When he learned of this, Lord Slytherin was nearly overcome with rage. He vowed to hunt Morte down and bring him to justice, as well as free the souls of all those whose lives he had cut short.**

Harry had never heard of this Morte, but then it was possible it had just never come up. It was far outside his area of concern.

He skimmed the next few pages that went into exhaustive detail about how Tom put his whole life on hold and spent the next 6 months hunting Morte. He hounded the necromancer through Italy, Greece, all the way to Albania, where the author decided to shift gears and spend nearly eight pages talking about Tom meeting some local aristocrat family, and his interactions with the families daughter Angelina.

It was clear she was important, what with how many hints the author dropped, but than it shifted away to when Tommy finally confronted Morte in his secret tower. Again, the author went blow by blow over the excruciatingly long section, and finally Harry just skipped it. He could hazard a guess as to the outcome, and he would be damned if he had to read about every sodding spell Tommy cast, its history, origin, effects and why it was such a brilliant tactical move at that exact moment.

This battle was the impetus for Tommy being declared an Archmage, which was an honorary title the International Confederation of Warlocks gave out to the most powerful mages. They had granted Albus the title for defeating Grindelwald. Harry wondered if they had ever considered him for the title. In his world, he had probably matched Voldemort by the end, and maybe Albus too. But the ICW had never sent him anything, and in any case Harry didn't need them to tell him how powerful he was.

He flipped to the next chapter, where, suprise suprise, Angelina whats her name married Tom. She gave birth to their first and only child a little over a year later, naming him Corvus Slytherin. Harry was pulled out of any more authorial gushing by the sound of his healing potion boiling.

Harry moved quickly, adding in the shaved silver and platinum, as well the powdered unicorn horn. Than he stirred it precisely 49 times, going at exactly 7 stirs per minute for 7 minutes. At the end, the potion shifted color, turning from a ruddy diluted red to a simmering bleached white in a single stir. Harry killed the heat and pulled the potion was from the burner. He would need to cool it down to 97 degrees, raise it back to a boil, than let it cool overnight.

He still had 43 minutes before the extraction was finished, so he kept reading.

The next few years were a string of mostly political and business challenges, with Tommy always looking like a christ figure.

If Harry were a betting man, he'd put a lot of money down on Tom financing this particular work, as it unfailingly put him in a positive light. This meant he had to take what he read with a pinch of salt.

One thing did catch his eye, in 1959. During the Hogwarts year the DADA teacher unexpectedly fell too ill to teach. Dippet was desperate to fill the post, and Tommy stepped up to teach. He only did so until the end of the year, but apparently he was an excellent teacher, being extremely fair to all his students, even the muggleborns. At least according to all the purebloods the author interviewed. No muggle borns were interviewed.

But 1960 was when Albus took over the position of Headmaster, and Harry was completely unsurprised to find Tommy was not invited back. The author never brought it up, but there appeared to be some tension between the two men. Harry would have to check a more neutral source.

He skimmed forward, and glossed over most of Corvus's life. He was sorted into slytherin, shocking absolutely no one, graduated with a special skill in wards and runes, gained his mastery by the age of 24, and remained a stubborn bachelor until he was 28. Than, he married Bellatrix Black. She gave birth to Dorea in 1983, and _oh god I'm imagining a pregnant Bellatrix. Get it out, get it out!_

Harry shook his head, trying to rid himself of that disturbing mental image. He was interested to see how the man had died for his wife, at least according to Dorea. Finally, he reached the section.

**The morning of August 26th, 1990, Corvus and his wife were out in Diagon for a spot of shopping. The street was filled with children and parents buying supplies for the upcoming school year. It was a Sunday, and by mid-morning there was a mass of people, and it took half an hour to make it from one end of the alley to another. Corvus and his wife were stuck in the middle, around the front of Ollivanders, where lines of young children were waiting to get their wands, giddy with anticipation.**

**What none of the shoppers knew was that hidden in the second stories of almost all the shops were 20 Blood Purists. The organization had been ravaged by the years since their height in 1981, with most members dead or imprisoned. The Ministry and public thought they were no longer a threat. They were about to be proven grievously mistaken. On a predetermined moment, the streets echoed with the sound of breaking glass, and a heartbeat later green killing curses sailed out of the windows into the crowded streets. **

**The busy street were packed too full, and anti-apparition wards prevented escape. The lucky ones fled into shops, but those in the open had no options. Many parents covered their children, taking Killing curses for them. The streets were littered with bodies, and children trapped underneath filled the air with terrified screams. Corvus and Bellatrix, both trained duellist, heroically fought to protect the civilians. Bellatrix Slytherin earned her title as the most gifted witch of her generation, slew four of the Purists on her own, with Corvus claiming two more. Several Blood purists tried to flee, only for the arriving Aurors streaming in from the Leaky Caldron to eliminate them. However, one unknown Purist decided he wanted to die fighting, and so he jumped down into the street and attacked the Slytherins. He screamed at them, calling them blood traitors, and sent curse after curse at the two.**

**The battle was fast and vicious, but than the Purist fired a killing curse at Bellatrix. Seeing his wife in danger, Corvus blocked it the only way he could: he stepped in front of her. It was the ultimate sacrifice. As his body fell to the ground, Bellatrix let out a wail that could be heard in Knockturn alley. Her rage turned the purist, and she gave him no quarter, cutting him apart so thoroughly that it was impossible for authorities to identify the body. She kept attacking the corpse, screaming and sobbing, until her cousin Auror Sirius Black managed to pull her away.**

**Bellatrix fell to her knees next to her husband, and pulled his body into her arms. Joseph Clearwater, a muggle photographer taking his daughter to shop for school supplies, had his camera with him. He had been pushed to the ground only a few feet away from where Corvus died, and when he staggered to his feet, he did the only thing that came to him. He took a picture. And it would become one of the most famous pictures in the last century, a moment of horror and trama captured in a single image.**

Harry turned the page, and stared at the picture in question. It was a wide angle of the street, with Gringotts in the background. Bellatrix was kneeling, face screwed up in a silent sob, cradling the body of a handsome man with dark hair and aristocratic features. His head hung limply back, and his eyes were glassy and blank in a way Harry was all too familiar with. Standing above her in red auror robes was Siris, a look of shock, horror and sadness etched on his face as he reached a hand down towards his cousin. Around them, bodies littered the street, some painfully small.

In his world, it had been Voldemort that attacked the Alley. Harry and the Order were ready for him, and the street had been turned into a ruin over the next 3 grinding hours.

But that was different. Civilians had long since found somewhere else to shop. Even Lestrange never would have attacked a crowded alley, where they could risk killing good pureblood children. It was nearly unthinkable.

He turned the page.

**Much has been written on that fateful day, and this author can think of no words equal to the weight of pain and terror those 20 cowards brought. Instead, I will let Lord Slytherin speak. These are the exact minutes from the emergency session called after the massacre. They were debating a measure about additional powers for the DMLE. Lord Slytherin had gone to collect his sons body, before marching straight into the chamber when he learned debate had stalled on matters of procedure and rights.**

**(Door slams open) Lord Slytherin: Supreme Mugwump, may I have the floor? **

**Supreme Mugwump Dumbledore: Of course my lord, but perhaps you should be with your family?**

**LS: No. I must speak. For their sake, for all of our sakes.**

**SMD: Very well. The floor is yours.**

**(LS lifts a wand into the air above his head) LS: This was my sons wand. I remember the day he got it, he was so excited he could barely sleep the night before. Woke me up at 5:00 to go down to Ollivanders as soon as it opened. When we got inside, he was bouncing with joy, and when this wand bonded with him, he smiled so wide it spilt his face. That day was August 26th, and exactly 28 years later he died on that street, just a few feet away from the shop. Alice Leon and Theodore Nott didn't even get the chance. They were in line to Ollivanders when they were murdered, in cold blood, by the so-called Purists. Alice was a muggleborn, Theodore the son of one of our most ancient and respected lines. **

**(LS places the wand on the table) LS: All of us in this room are purebloods, and so one question has dominated my mind since I heard of the attack: Is this who we are? Have we become so terrified of change that we would resort to cowardly killing innocent children? This was only a pure act in the sense that it was pure evil. This was no act of 'safeguarding' our culture, it was the deliberate and indiscriminate targeting of children. The Blood Purists waited above streets of happy, laughing people enjoying the last days of summer, and then poured all of their indistinct and bitter hatred into killing curses to hurl down upon them. I recall, the day I was elevated to this hallowed body, Lord Carrow pulled me aside and gave me a piece of advice that I have remembered ever since. He said to me, being pureblood is not about privilege, it is about responsibility. Responsibility to those who came before, whos legacies we must protect. Responsibility to those that come after, future generations that we must safeguard, so they can know peace and happiness. Today, we failed both. **

**LS: And I accept that failure, the burden of knowing that if I had acted differently, my son would still be alive, and my Granddaughter would still have a father. Every time the DMLE came before us, asking for more money or more authority to stop the Purists, we ignored them. Told them the threat was over. Or we had our petty debates. I know many of those in this chamber have voiced support for the Purists, perhaps even went further than that. But is this truely what we have become, how low we have sunk?**

**LS: My son died by stepping in front of a killing curse meant for his wife. And even as I weep, as the sorrow threatens to drown me, I have never been more proud. Amos Diggory was in the street. His son was inside Madam Malkins, and when the spells started flying, he could have run and saved himself. But he didn't. Instead, he threw himself over Margret Velbrook. An 11 year old muggle born he didn't even know, shielding her with his own body. He was struck by three killing curses, but in doing so Margret survived. I was not there, but as a father I can tell you I would have gladly dived in front of my son, or my daughter in law, or my Granddaughter if it meant they would survive, I would do it without hesitation! Because that is what being a pureblood means to me, it is duty and sacrifice for the future, no matter the personal cost.**

**LS: But perhaps I am wrong, perhaps I am naive, but if that is the case than I will gladly renounce my Lordship, take up the name of Riddle and leave this place behind. Because if being a pureblood means slaughtering children, than I would sooner cut my own throat than be one of you.**

**LS: That is the question that sits in front of us, is not how much emergency power to give the Aurors, not how far our authority goes, it is the simple question, is this who we are? **

**The emergency measure passed unanimously with no further debate. Corvus Slytherin and Amos Diggory were both posthumously awarded the Order of Merlin, first class. Bellatrix Slytherin declined any awards, saying her husband was the true hero. The massacre remains close in mind today, as there is a permanent Auror patrol on the alley, and even now people do not crowd the street. It is a collective scar that may never heal.**

Harry closed the book, deep in thought. That speech was so utterly different from the selfish sociopath of his world. Voldemort had been so obsessed with his own life that he constructed an army to protect him, and delved into the deepest dark arts to gain more power.

Of course, this was a political speech, and it was possible Slytherin was simply trying to divert attention, and perhaps he really was callous enough to sacrifice his own child. But at the same time, the attack was extremely stupid from a political standpoint. However, much like the Death Eaters the Purists seemed alive and kicking. Perhaps there was something deeper at play.

Harry shook his head. The potion was nearly done steeping. Harry stood up and finely minced the hemlock leaves and staged 6 vials. As the last two minutes ticked by, he pondered what he had learned.

He had assumed, rather callously, that just because the Ministry was still standing and the threat seemed minor in comparison to the War he had come from that it was minor.

_I'm glad I stayed. The idea of anyone doing something so heinous is horrible. And it was so pointless too, all those lives lost for nothing. I won't let it come to that. _Harry promised himself. He was no political genius, but if that was what it took to end this threat, Dumbledore or Slytherin would have managed it.

No. Now it was time for the Purists to meet a true taker of lives, their own personal monster, and in that Harry was unmatched.

His mental timer came to an end, and Harry added the hemlock and whole opopanax to the slurry, returning it to high heat. He mixed it for a few moments, counting off stirs, before 2 minutes elapsed he grabbed the rest of the dragon blood and poured it in slowly, stirring clockwise at a precise rpm. Once all the blood was in, he needed to bring it to a heavy boil as fast as he could, while stirring it once every 50 seconds, leaving the spoon submerged in the dead center when not moving.

It took a full 15 minutes to bring it up to an aggressive boil, and Harry kept his eyes on it, watching for the change from the pale red to the ruby red that marked the potion as done. He had a ladle and funnel set up, as speed was a necessity. If left in the cauldron too long, the potion would discolor as the iron in the cauldron was dissolved into it. As he watched, the color changed in the blink of any eye. Harry killed the heat and immediately went to work ladling the potion into the waiting vials. He managed to pour it all in under a minute thirty, and he smiled at the 6 perfect vials of ruby potion, each one a severe kick in the ass, as Ron said. Once out of the cauldron, it could be left open to cool completely.

Now, onto the Healing. It was only a couple degrees off from 97, so he quickly prepped a half pint of the Amortentia, the rest of which would be the potion bomb reactant, and the hornroot. This potion was fairly low stress compared to the rest, and he added the liquid, sprinkling the powder on top, letting it bloom in. He returned it to the heat, keeping an eye on it, just in case. He'd went away once during this period, and had it blow up on him. The water had mostly boiled away, and the Hornroot made it very thick, almost like honey.

Harry cast Tempus, showing it was just after 3 am. Once this was done, he would go and fall asleep in one of the bedrooms.

Tomorrow, he would take a shower, improve the warding and finish up the potions. He had read the rest of the books, and he needed more current information, which would require access to the Prophet archive. So much to do, it made his eyes droop.

The potion reached a boil, and Harry pulled it off to let it sit on the counter. Currently, it was ruddy brown, but come morning it would be a deep, royal purple, good for 15 vials.

With that all done, Harry made his way to the nearest bedroom, pulled the dust cover off the bed and passed out in his full gear, gripping his wand.

**Author Note**

**Wow, this was a really long chapter. Please excuse any brewing mistakes, but feel free to tell me any you see. Next chapter, we're going leave Harry and move to a different POV.**

**Review if you're feelin' it**


	4. A Mothers Duty

Profesor Bellatrix Slytherin sauntered into the Great Hall with a grace and elegance that dripped from every pore. Her hair was done half up, half down without a stray hair, and she found the the somewhat unbalanced look made students weary of annoying her without cause. Her black robes were woven from the finest acromantula silk, and accented her figure in a way certain people (McGonagall) found scandalous.

But they still left her free to dodge and duel, and made some of the brave or stupid boys (and a few girls) oogle her. Her makeup was a touch more restrained, only some eyeshadow, mascara blush and a light tone lip stain. All in all, she could swap easily from seductive to terrifying with just her expression. Regretfully, she had little need for the former in the school, and Dumbledore chided her for using the latter.

Still, her entrance was rather wasted. It was 6:30 on a Friday, meaning the great hall was occupied by a total of 11 people.

A couple older Ravenclaw students sat spaced out around their table, their head buried so deeply in their books or essays they didn't even look up. Sloppy. She'd have to drill the Ravens in her advanced classes in spatial awareness.

Two Hufflepuff girls were sitting at the end of the table, probably gossiping. Both snapped their heads onto Bellatrix when she walked in, eyes wide with fear. Bellatrix ignored them. During her first week as a teacher, she had made 4 separate badgers cry, tying Severus for the record. Ever since, the house students had an aversion to her.

Which suited Bellatrix just fine. Dealing with the simpering fools for too long made her teeth ache from grinding them, waiting for them to get to the bloody point.

The Gryffindor table was empty, and she was sure that at least a third of the fools would sprint in 10 minutes before class started to gorge themselves in a way that violated every rule of table manners. Bellatrix would be gone long before than, hopefully the second the youngest Weasel boy arrived. Just thinking about it made her stomach turn in distaste.

Than there was Slytherin. A few students sat around, some talking, others working, but they all looked over at her. Severus may have been their Head of House, but all of them sat up and took notice when Bellatrix spoke. Their faces betrayed nothing but mild interest, but they remained at the ready in case she came over.

Once, Draco had been loudly boasting at dinner about his dueling skills, so Bellatrix had gotten up and asked him to prove it. He had chickened out, but he learned the lesson that boasts were only as good as your willingness to back them up.

It still didn't shut him up fully, but Bellatrix was convinced that would take the second coming of Merlin.

At the teachers table, Rolanda Hooch sat at one end, and she gave Bellatrixa neutral nod, which Bellatrix returned. She and the flying instructor weren't close, but they didn't despise each other either. Bellatrix had never been the best flyer back when Hooch taught her, but as colleagues they mostly stayed out of one another's way.

The same could not be said for the other woman at the table.

McGonagall glared at Bella, her poustrue stiff as she craved into her kippers with more force than was necessary.

Their relationship had been stormy enough when it had been student-teacher, and now as peers they clashed on a near daily basis. Differences in teaching methods, especially Bellatrix's habit of attacking her entire class when they refused to shut up was only one part of it.

Bellatrix and her father-in-law had strong armed Dumbles into letting her teach, and they hadn't been subtle about their reasoning.

Ever since the Sunday massacre, Lord Slytherin had been one of the most vocal purebloods in opposition of the Purists, and they had tried on several times to kidnap Dorea. Bellatrix damn sure wasn't going to sit around at home while her daughter was at risk at Hogwarts.

Dumbles had promised she would be safe, but Bellatrix didn't trust him or the rest of the teachers with the job. It had cost many political favors, and Bellatrix was forced to deal with morons constantly, but it was worth it to keep her baby safe.

Bellatrix shot a single venomous glare at the cat bitch before taking her place on the opposite end of the table, next to Severus.

The somewhat greasy man was the closest thing to a friend Bellatrix had on the staff, as both agreed the vast majority of students were brain dead imbeciles who shouldn't be allowed to so much as look at wands, and they would occasionally drink together while grading abysmal essays. But Bellatrix didn't really respect the man. They often clashed over Draco, who Bellatrix saw as a near worthless moron, but Severus believed he was going to be an Archmage when he grew up.

It was also painfully obvious he was still in love with Lily Potter, despite the fact that she had clearly rejected him for that berk Potter, and it was just hard to respect him watching that. This was compounded by the fact that he bitched near constantly to her in the misguided belief that Bellatrix cared.

The potion master was in a foul mood this morning, and Bellatrix spied he was grading essays from his 2nd years, with this student having failed based on the sheer amount of red ink staining the parchment.

"Good morning Severus." Bellatrix said quietly, watching as the Slytherins returned to their own tasks now that she had sat down.

"It is most certainly not." The hook nosed man snarked at her, not looking up from the essay. Bellatrix rolled her eyes at the theatrics but left the him to his sulking. She ate a sliced apple, and a couple pieces of toast with marmalade as daintily as a woman of her status could. Her eyes stayed mostly on the main doors, waiting for her daughter to arrive.

The two had barely spoken since their argument on Wednesday, though Dorea was in detention with Snape for the rest of the school year.

Bellatrix was not looking forward to the sulking she would do once they were home.

Her daughter's accusations cut deeply and though Bellatrix wouldn't admit it under pain of death, she had sobbed herself to sleep that night. But what hurt most was not her daughters low opinion of her, but the cutting truth.

Even from a young age, when her little sisters would play mother and cradle their dolls, Bellatrix stayed away. The idea of taking care of a squalling, wailing infant sickened her, and she never imagined herself as mother.

But she was a member of a powerful pureblood family, and she knew a political marriage was in her future, and children would be expected soon after.

At first her parents had been in talks with the Lestrange family for her to wed that oaf Rodolphus. She despised the man and privately made plans to ensure her infertility before they were wed. No amount of social stigma would reduce her to bearing that mans dreadful spawn. And than, she met Corvus. As she waited, her mind drifted back to their first meeting during a party at the Nott Estate.

_Bellatrix had slipped away from Rodolphus, who had the gall to constantly lay his hands on her, like she was claiming him as her property. It had taken every ounce of restraint she had not to curse his bollocks off. Instead she was headed to the one place no one went during a party: the library. _

_The Nott library was pitiful in comparison to the Blacks, but she had heard tell of a rare book on Dark hexes hidden within, and she was eager to get her hands on it. _

_But the library was not as deserted as she had hoped. A tall man in well made robes was pursuing a section on runes, humming happily to himself with his back to the door. Bellatrix was unsure who he was but she instantly labeled him a distracted fool, and made an attempt to slip out the door before he noticed her and entrapped her in banal conversation._

"_Do you like the melody? My mother is very fond of it. But you are a very different sort of woman, Miss Black." the man said suddenly, without turning to look at her._

_Bellatrix snarled silently. She hated being discovered. _

"_I'm not one for such idle minded pursuits as children's lullabies. I have always preferred the music of magic. The violent kind." she said smoothly, hoping he took the warning and let her go._

"_Yes, I suspected as much." he said with a slight chuckle, and Bellatrix's hackels rose. How dare this man mock her? Did he think she was a mere woman, a pretty plaything? Her hand twitched towards her wand. _

_The man held up a book he had been concealing in front of him. "Which is why you are here looking for Castor Pollux seminal work 'Spells to Sow Fear and Terror Among Friend and Enemy Alike.' Banned in all ICW countries, and thought to be the source of the blood-boiling curse. Personally, I always found his spells more gruesome than effective, and his writing style overly flowery." he said in a bored tone. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and summoned her wand to her hand._

"_I agree. But gruesome spells have their applications, such as using on stalkers or arrogant shits who think they can intimidate me." she said in a sickly sweet voice, advancing slowly on the still unmoving man._

"_Hah! You are as sharp as the gossip mongers claimed. But where are my manners?" The man slowly spun around, keeping his hands where Bellatrix could see them. _

"_Corvus Armando Slytherin, at your service." _

_Bellatrix knew it was him, she had seen his face for years. He was handsome, dark black hair and aristocratic features, a glint of mischief in his blue eyes and a smile that made young ladies swoon. The man was the closest thing to a Prince the Purebloods had, and Bellatrix had just threatened him._

_Fuck._

_She grit her teeth, and slid her wand back into her dress, but keeping her hand on it. Prince or not, she wasn't dropping her guard. "My deepest apologies, I didn't realize who you where." she said as demure as she could, putting on the mask of the perfect little aristocrat her family wanted her to be._

_But Corvus just smiled "No need to put on airs with me Miss Black. Few people seek frankly to me, and I would never ask you to bite your tongue." he said, his eyes sparkling. _

_Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at the man, suspicion growing. "What do you want?" she said quietly, sensing danger._

"_A matter of business. Or rather, a mutual problem that we could solve together." Corvus said smoothly, a charming smile on his face. _

"_I can't think of any problems we share. And any family business is handled by my Uncle, so good evening to you sir." Bellatrix said haughtily, turning to go leave the library when Corvus spoke._

"_You hate Lestrange, and I sympathize. He is a boor, a simpleton more interested in the trappings of power than the reality of it. He slobbers on you, treating you like a shiny new toy, even as he sleeps around with every whore who will have him" he said, and she heard genuine anger in the young man's voice. _

_It was true, Rodopuls was not subtle in his bedmates, and it was an insult to Bellatrix and her family. She turned to look at Slytherin, anger burning in her chest._

"_How dare you speak of things you have no understanding of!" she growled, rage seeping out of her mouth. He was mocking her, though for what reason she had no idea._

"_I told you Miss Black, I can sympathize. The same way Lestrange disgust you, so too do all those pureblood darlings outside fill me with dread. They stand around, looking pretty and thinking all they have to do is bat their eyes and all men will swoon. They who can barely cast 5th year spells, discarding their magic in favor of inane competitions over dresses and jewelry." Corvus's eyes burned with a dreadful intensity, and Bellatrix found herself drawn to them, like pools of lagoon water raging in a storm_

"_The ones who have nothing between their ears but dust, they sicken me, and the very thought of marrying one of those vapid cows gives me conniptions!" He declared, and Bellatrix shook herself out of her stupor at his sudden anger._

"_And what does any of this have to do with me?" she asked, anger still lurking just below the surface._

_The fury Slytherin displayed vanished in an instant his charming smile back in place. "Why, I want you to marry me Miss Black." _

_Before Bellatrix could protest, that she was promised to Lestrange, that she didn't even know him, that this was all improper, he lifted his hands._

"_However, this would be a marriage in name alone. The contract would allow you a great deal of freedom. Personally, I would be happiest to remain unbound, but for people in our position that simply is not an option. So, this partnership would allow us to live our owns lives and fulfill our responsibilities to our families and society." He placated quickly, and before Bellatrix could respond, Corvus was in front of her, holding out a parchment scroll._

"_At least consider it. I am also willing to give you a magically binding oath, if you feel it necessary." Than, with his cologne barely touching her nose, he was gone. Bellatrix stood there, stunned. _

_She considered herself a forward witch, but proposing marriage in the very first conversation with someone was so brazen it gave her whiplash._

_But she didn't burn the contract, instead hiding it in her dress pockets, and returning to the ballroom to find the surly plastered Lestrange._

Bellatrix sighed, looking down at her empty plate.

She had decided to accept Corvus's proposal, after ensuring that he was telling the truth about not trying to bind her. Lestrange was enraged, but her Uncle was pleased with her for courting the most desirable heir in the whole country and all was forgiven.

The two had never been in love, but there was a mutual respect, and it evolved into a comfort and friendship between the two. Corvus became one of the only people she let herself be unguarded around. He never belittled her or told her what to do, and in turn she never asked for more than he was willing to give.

They lived separate lives, only coming together for the many drab balls and galas they were forced to attend. And even than they often found an excuse to leave early.

Bellatrix spent her free time diving deeper into arcane mysteries, or travelling abroad hunting secret power. In truth, she never knew much of her husbands activities. He was gone almost as much as she was. His notes were incomprehensible to her when she saw them, going into strange mixtures of foreign runes for some unspecific end goal. But, they were happy in their roles.

The idea to have a child was not something Corvus brought up. In fact he confided he was just as weary of children as she was. It had been an impassioned plea from Lord Slytherin to continue his line that finally convinced the couple to have a child.

Some women glowed when pregnant, like Narcissa. Bellatrix did not.

It felt like she was lugging around a quaffle from the 3rd month on. She was hot and bloated all the time. The kicks came at the worst times, such as when she was trying to sleep or read, and she hated how her slim figure was lost, how she couldn't duel or use dark magic for fear of hurting the baby. And the less she thought about the delivery the better.

But throughout all the other women and healers told her it would all be worth it once she held her daughter in her hands. Bellatrix had resented the unborn child, and she was worried she wouldn't love her, but even her own mother told her that once she looked at her baby, the love would flow forth from her heart.

After the 19 hour delivery, filled with agony and Bellatrix promising she would kill everyone even remotely involved with her ordeal, she had finally laid eyes on her daughter.

And the love did not materialize. She looked at the wrinkly little creature, barely into the world and already screaming her lungs out, and just felt disgusted.

She had tried to hold Dorea, but the baby just kept screaming and she felt so wrong in Bella's arms. Bellatrix was on her last nerve when Corvus swooped in, picking up his daughter and cradling her. Dorea calmed instantly, falling into a serene sleep.

Bellatrix had watched his face, saw the look of pure joy cross his face as Dorea slept peacefully, and felt jealous.

She did try to be a mother, but she was terrible at it. Dorea was utterly illogical, and when she started to cry or wail Bellatrix had no idea what she wanted, and she was inevitably handed off to one of the nannies to feed or burp or Merlin forbid change her.

Dorea also didn't like Bellatrix that much, screaming when held by her or tugging on her hair with surprising strength, but she loved her Papa. After 6 months of misery, Corvus had sent his wife on a vacation, away from the screaming infant at home.

Bellatrix had effectively given up on motherhood by the time Dorea was a year old. She went back to living her life just as she had before she was born, only seeing Dorea briefly a couple times a week, if that.

She convinced herself it was fine, Dorea had Corvus and all the staff she could need. Bellatrix presence only made things more difficult. Even when her daughter could finally talk, it was impossible to have a decent conversation with her. It was impossiable to understand the gibbersh she used, or to follow her train of thought.

Corvus never resented Bellatrix for backing away from their child, and he shined as a father. Some of the other noblemen mocked him for always putting Dorea first, calling him a mother, but Corvus didn't care.

He and Dorea had a connection Bellatrix could never match. He was more than willing to show his teeth for her, to protect and defend her. When Lord Carrow had told Corvus that Dorea was spoiled, and should be beaten to 'turn her around', Corvus had told the Lord that if he ever brought it up again he would have to face Corvus in a duel.

It had seemed like a good balance, Bellatrix living her seperate life, and not worrying about her home life because Corvus was taking care of it.

Than the Sunday Massacre happened, and her world was turned upside down.

They fought well together that day, with Corvus covering her while she attacked the Purists. Than that fucking bastard had hopped down and attacked them, having the sheer gall to challenge her.

Bellatrix had been so focused on killing him, on proving that she was better, that she missed that Corvus was burning out. She had only realized when she saw a killing curse coming towards her and Corvus hadn't conjuried a block of marble to block it.

The next few seconds were burned into her memory, and she had spent many sleepless nights thinking about what she could have done. If she hadn't been so focused on offense, she could have dodged it, and looking down at that sickly green spell she had known she was about to die.

Her one clear thought was that she hoped Corvus wouldn't blame himself. She was pissed this shit would be the one to end her, but otherwise accepted it. This was just how the world worked.

Than her husband did the unthinkable. He stepped in front of her.

Bellatrix had tried to yell at him, to pull him aside, to do anything.

But she was too slow. In that moment, her best friend sacrificed himself for her, and Bellatrix had no idea what possessed him to do it. He was in the prime of his life, he had a daughter to think about, and yet he threw it all away for her.

It was not a fair trade. Bellatrix had watched in horror as her husband fell limply to ground. Rage and panic had filled her, and she had exploded at the Blood Purist, throwing every brutal, maiming spell she knew at him, even after he fell she just kept casting. She was terrified. She had no idea how to what she was going to do without Corvus, and the image of him playing with Dorea that morning, both smiling and giggling, filled her mind.

It had been Sirius of all people who stopped her and pulled her back from the lump of flesh that she had turned the murderous bastard into. She hadn't realized she had been weeping. Her cousin tried to calm her, but Bellatrix only had eyes for her husband's corpse. She'd clung to him, sobbing for all the world to see.

One question that dominated her mind as she cradled him: 'What am I going to tell Dorea?'

Lord Slytherin had blamed himself, but it was her fault. She could barely look at her daughter when she'd gone home that day.

_Bellatrix pushed in the door of their manor, feeling like it had been a century since she had last stood her this morning. Back when Corvus was trying to convince her that the Alley wouldn't be too crowded. _

_All the house elves were gone, and suddenly Bellatrix heard the patter of little feet coming from the playroom, like war drums signaling her doom._

_Dorea sprinted down the hallway, sliding around the corner with a huge smile on her face, yelling "Papa!" the joy in her voice burned like acid._

_Her happy expression fell when she saw Bellatrix standing there, alone, and tear tracks still on her face. "Mother, where papa?" she asked, a bit of fear in her voice. Bellatrix took a few steps forward, and wondered when she had been hit by a jelly-leg spell._

_She got in front of her daughter, and knelt down to Dorea's eye level. She could see the fear in her daughter's eyes._

"_Papa...he's not, he…" Bellatrix choked out, the words getting stuck in her throat. She breathed. She had to say this. It was her duty._

"_There was a, an accident. Papa, papa isn't coming home." she said, praying Dorea understood. _

_She didn't._

"_Why not? He said he would" the girl asked, confusion apparent in her face._

_Bellatrix nearly sobbed. But she didn't. "Papa, he can't come home. H-he's gone Dorea." Bellatrix couldn't bring herself to say 'dead'. She had no idea if the girl even understood the concept._

_Dorea shook her head violently back and forth, her hair whipping around. Tears shone in her eyes. Eyes the same shade as her fathers._

"_NO! Papa said he'd come back, and papa never lies!" the child declared loudly. _

_Bellatrix reached out to hold her, but Dorea swatted her hands away, and Merlin that cut almost as much as seeing Corvus lying falling to the ground. _

"_I WANT MY PAPA!" Dorea screamed, and she tried to push past Bellatrix to the door, tears streaming down he face. Having no choice, Bellatrix grabbed her and hugged her close, cooing into her daughters hair, just like she had seen Corvus do to calm her down when she got angry _

_But Dorea didn't relax. She struggled, crying and yelling for Papa, her tiny fists hitting Bella's chest. Bellatrix realized she was crying too, and there was nothing she could do to comfort her child. She just kept holding on, and eventually the girl exhausted herself, and broke down into quiet sobbing._

"_He said he'd be back. He never lies. He never lies." Dorea repeated, hugging herself. After an indeterminate amount of time, the girl passed out in Bellatrix's arms, and the witch looked down at her child. _

_She was scared, and out of her depth. She had never needed to be a parent. But now, she had no choice. _

_Sitting on the floor with her daughter in her arms, she made a promise. No matter what, she would be here for her. Because Corvus wasn't._

Bellatrix sighed, remembering that vow. If only it was that easy. Dorea had not taken kindly to her once absent mother suddenly butting into her life, and Bellatrix privately admitted she had no idea what she was doing. Perhaps if she had been there since the beginning, they would have a better relationship.

Or maybe not. But she couldn't undo what she had done. She just had to keep moving forward.

The Great Hall was filling up as more students streamed in. The Puffs came in as two or three big groups. Safety in numbers, as all the other houses knew picked on them.

Almost no one bothered the Ravens. It simply wasn't very fun, and a few of the overachievers could be downright dangerous when provoked. They arrived alone or in pairs, quiet and disconnected, and most buried in their books or homework. Exams were a day away, so all of them were panicking.

Her old house was a different story. For Slytherins, things like who you came in with, sat with, talked to, they were all careful political calculations. Severus insisted on it. It prepared them for the real world of backstabbing and careful positioning. It was all lost on the other houses, but Slytherin was the most self contained. Socializing outside ones house was rarely done and required a good reason.

The Griffs arrived in groups of four to five, tumbling around like animals, filling the hall with raucous noise, paying no attention to anything or one other than themselves.

Her eyes picked out Longbottom and the mudblood Granger, along with the Weasley girl and the Potter twins. Ronald was apparently sleeping in, sparing her from watching him eat. Orion, her nephew was also absent. He had taken after Sirius and disappointed the family by becoming a Griff, and a member of Longbottoms little gang.

They were mostly useless fools, only marginally better than the rest of their peers in Defense. With the possible exception of Rose Potter. She had the makings of a decent fighter, but was still too arrogant and headstrong to be any good.

The Boy-who-lived stood tall against the rest of the slovenly house, self assured and confident. He and his little band of sycophants were celebrities, and Bellatrix knew far more than she cared too about them.

One of the conditions of her employment was protecting not just her own child from Purist plots, but all of the other targets, the biggest one being Longbottom. He was a symbol of their failure, their first fall from grace, and a rallying cry for the forces arrayed against them. During his first year Professor Quirrell had nearly succeeded in killing him.

Since she had been teaching she had uncovered 16 separate plots to kill the boy, and aiding in foiling all of them. Not that he knew that. All his little friends saw her as an evil dark witch, and often imagined she and Severus were somehow out to sabotage them.

Okay, that was true academically, but only because they were idiots and deserved to fail. Still, she was in no hurry to tell them the truth. The last thing she wanted was to be pulled into their 'Light' group constantly competing to suck off dumbles and pleasure themselves.

It had been bad enough last year when Dorea had decided to protest not being able to go to Hogsmeade by sitting with her cousin at the Gryffindor table.

She still had nightmares about it.

Bellatrix was pulled out of her thoughts when one of her bracelets shook slightly. It was the one linked to the tracking charm on Dorea, and that meant she had left the Slytherin common room.

Bellatrix knew that at 13 she would have rioted at her mother constantly monitoring her, and it was definitely a source of friction, but Dorea simply didn't understand how much danger she was in. She always sought to bend the rules, and Bellatrix may have allowed it had she not been under near constant threat of kidnapping, or worse.

That was why her recent stint to Loc Muinne was so terrifying. She had somehow transferred the tracking charm onto a classmate, and by the time Bellatrix realized, she had been gone for hours. It was a golden opportunity for the Purists, had they known about it.

'_Professor, I was fine! Nothing happened, why are you pulling your hair out!?' _had been the gist of Dorea's argument later, but that wasn't the point. They had to be lucky every time, the Purists only needed once.

Lord Slytherin was a great man, and Bellatrix had long admired him, but still she knew that if push came to shove he would be willing to lose his granddaughter rather than become the Purists puppet.

Dorea may not know it, but her mother was the only one who could truly protect her.

Still, Bellatrix was often completely lost when it came to her daughter, and she knew it was having a negative effect on both of them. Dorea was typically an above average student, but her grades had been slipping recently. Bellatrix guessed it was a deliberate act, operating under the assumption that Bellatrix only cared about her behavior as it reflected her family.

But Bellatrix wanted her daughter to have the best life she could, and not to handicap herself out of spite.

Bellatrix restricted the urge to check up exactly where her daughter was, as usually it only took 8 minutes to walk from the dungeons to the Great Hall. But she might have talked to friends in the halls. She shouldn't skip breakfast, it wasn't good for her.

She fidgeted a bit in her seat, and the now full teachers table took notice. Most of them talked behind her back, saying she was no real teacher and was here for purely selfish reasons, insulted she thought them incapable of protecting her daughter, but only the cat bitch was brave enough to say it to her face.

This was normal, right? For mothers to worry, and protect their children?

_Not to the extents you've gone. _A doubtful little voice whispered in the back of her mind. It sounded awfully like Corvus, a reminder that everything she struggled with he would have done effortlessly.

It should have been her who died that day. Corvus would have known what to say to Dorea, known how to deal with all the politics she ran through like a dragon in a china shop. He would know what to do.

Just than, Dorea turned the corner, swiftly making her way to the end of the table furthest away from the teachers table, and hiding in the shadow of a seventh year lunk to block Bellatrix's line of sight.

It still calmed Bellatrix to see her daughter safe and sound, and she rose gracefully from her seat, sweeping off through the side exit. Staying would only irritate Dorea, and she had to prep for her first class.

**oooOOOooo**

Several hours later, Bellatrix collapsed in her office chair. She spelled the door shut and laid her head on her desk.

She needed a drink. Or several.

Her 7th year class had taken up the whole morning slot, and it was one of the most crushing experiences she had since she began teaching. Exams were close and so Bellatrix had set her classes aside for review. The students were from all the houses, and supposedly they were fully trained in defense.

Bellatrix always focused on practical applications, mostly dueling. She figured that after 3 years teaching this batch of students, they had at least the basics down, and so in this final class she dueled closer to her full potential.

It was pathetic.

Not one bloody student made it a minute against her. All the careful strategy and twitch reactions she had drilled into them was thrown out the window the second spells started flying and they reverted to wildly cast in every direction or cowering behind shields.

The sad thing was, even with their poor showing, she knew they would still pass their NEWTs, which was an indictment of the exam more than anything.

Her 3rd years were next, after lunch, and they were also preparing for exams. She'd have to do a review of magical creatures, as it was all they were bloody taught. Meaning by the time they'd graduated it would all be cast out of their minds like ballast.

But Bellatrix couldn't mope forever. She had a meeting.

Right on cue, by which she meant five minutes late, her fireplace lit green and figure in red robes fell out, collapsing on the floor of her office and _oh Merlin I need a drink._

Auror Sirius Black hopped up with a boyish grin, trying to pretend he wasn't pushing forty.

"Trixy, you look glum! Why the long face?" he declared in an overly cheery voice, plopping down in the chair opposite her.

The nickname made Bellatrix itch for her wand. She was sure she was the better duelist than her shit cousin, but attacking an active Auror, even an annoying one, was frowned upon.

"I was having an excellent day until you arrived Siri." Bellatrix ground out, her glare burning into his skull.

Why Scrimgeour decided to make Sirius her primary contact on the force was beyond her. She had worked well with Moody, after an admittedly rough adjustment period. Hell, she'd have taken Potter. But she had been overruled, and so she was stuck with the clout.

Sirius raised his hand to his mouth, a look of fake shock and horror on his face. "Why Trixy, how could you say something so hurtful? You wound me, you wound me to the bone, I say!"

Bellatrix was so close to hexing him it hurt.

"Enough you dolt! You asked for this meeting, so get to the point!" she yelled angrily, throwing her hands up.

Sirius's expression cleared and settled into semi-professionalism. He was one of a small task force assigned to protect at risk minors from Purist plots. Technically, Bellatrix was a last line of defense at the school, but in practice she was far more proactive. Often more proactive than the Aurors wanted her to be.

Sirius's son Orion was also in danger as the heir to the family. Uncle Orion remained neutral, and she honestly doubted he loved his grandson enough to bend that position, even if he was kidnapped.

Sirius also had a fondness for Dorea, though the girl did think he was thick. And was tactless enough to say it to his face. _Though at least it eliminated any doubt that she's related to me._

In any case, most of the time she received paper reports. This must be serious for a face to face.

Sirius produced a DMLE file and laid it on the desk. It was marked as Otto Bienderhook, a name she was unfamiliar with.

Pulling the file open, she saw that Bienderhook was dead. Muggles fished him out of a dumpster in Birmingham early this morning. When they ran his prints, someone realized he was a wizard, and the Aurors swept in to take control.

The autopsy revealed he had died of shock, likely the cruciatus curse. He was placed under it his brain hemorrhaged. A cruel death, though more common in recent years.

Bellatrix shot Sirius a sceptical look, silently asking why this was important to them.

"Bienderhook was a shady potion seller, but he had a side venture making unlicensed portkeys. For example, a certain young girls illegal portkey to Loc Muinne." Sirius said calmly.

Bellatrix had told him about the whole affair, knowing he would leave Dorea's lawbreaking out of his report. But she had asked him to figure out where Dorea got her transportation.

And he was murdered not long afterwards. Could be coincidence, but Bellatrix was not about to take chances.

Sirius went on "My sources claim the Purists were behind it, something about him selling them out. Rumor is, on his information they sent a retrieval team and they haven't been seen since."

Bellatrix leaned back in her chair "Any evidence that Dorea was the target?" she asked tightly. Sirius shrugged "Maybe. A couple Aurors swept the ruins, and they did find one odd thing. In one of the chambers in the tunnel network, they found a trace of dark magic embedded in one of the walls. Nothing else that indicated a fight, but from the strength the spell was cast in the last month or so. You checked Dorea when she got back, right?" Sirius asked suddenly. The idea of them sending back a polyjuiced imposter in place of her daughter was a constant threat.

Bellatrix nodded "As soon as she got back." She'd cast many detection spells and medical charms on Dorea during her lecture when her daughter had stopped paying attention. She also had Pomphrey double check her results later that night, and she'd strengthened and redoubled the tracking charms. "And I checked her wand, only thing she cast was lumos."

"Good. So, we have fragmentary evidence of a fight, or at least a single missed spell, four missing Purists, and apparently they blamed the portkey maker for it. Still a snitch short of a set though." Sirius mused, leaning back in the chair.

Bellatrix nodded "So, assuming all of this evidence is connected, someone or many someone's intercepted the Purists, eliminated them and covered up almost all the evidence of the fight." she said with a sigh.

"Which doesn't narrow it down very much. The Purists have no shortage of enemies." It was an open secret that after the Sunday Massacre numerous vigilante groups formed to avenge their children or friends. The Ministry had tolerated them with the understanding that they always left the bodies somewhere they could be found.

Some of the groups still existed, and many of the Purebloods involved had a great deal of love for Dorea as they remembered her father and wanted to curry favor with Lord Slytherin. They would jump at the chance to protect her.

Sirius was unconvinced "Most of those groups have dropped off, what with the Purists on the rise again and the New Dark Lord." he grimaced at the title, and Bellatrix felt dread.

Two years ago, the Ministry had been ready to once again declare the Blood Purists destroyed. But than the Dark Lord had burst onto the scene. His identity was a mystery, but he had staged a prison break on Azkaban, freeing every prisoner who would swear loyalty to him.

In a single move, he had restarted the war and gained a hardened army totally dedicated to the fight. Ever since the Purists had gained discipline, and were much more careful in their targets, giving the Aurors few chances to catch them.

The Dark Lord himself hung over their head, and had yet to truly enter the field. But he had single handedly stormed Azkaban, killing the entire guard contingency, trapping the dementors and breaking the wards. So, it was assumed they were archmage level. It was likely he was avoiding conflict with Dumbles and Lord Slytherin, but having such a powerful mage leading the Purists filled everyone with dread.

"I know. Still, certain groups are still hanging on." she said, glaring at Sirius, who looked away.

She knew Dumbles was running his own small army, and Sirius was doubtless a member. They called it something like the Phoenix Order, because they were all overly dramatic wankers. She wasn't a member, but she could see a secret when it was right in front of her.

Sirius took a great interest in the wall "I have no idea what you're talking about, and hypothetically any such organization would turn any prisoners or bodies to the proper authorities." he lied shamelessly.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes but didn't pursue it further. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend. _

Sirius smirked, than his expression turned curious "Did Dorea mention anything odd when she got back? She might have noticed something." he pondered, and a cold weight settled on her chest.

"She didn't mention anything." she said, tension bleeding into her voice. Sirius cocked an eyebrow.

"You want me to talk to her?" he asked, and Bellatrix let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "I doubt it would do any good. She's… not in the best mood." Bellatrix said quickly, praying he would drop it. Sirius had the misguided belief that just because his son had turned out alright, he was some master parent. But most of his advice to children revolved around either quidditch or pranking or both.

Sirius sighed, and Bellatrix could hear the reproach in it. "Bella, I know you don't want any advice, but-" "Oh shut up Sirius!" Bellatrix stood up, anger spilling out.

"Whatever you're about to say, whatever advice you're about to cough up, save it! You don't understand, your son looks at you and sees his father, my daughter looks at me and only sees the person who got her father killed, and none of your half knut parenting advice is going to change that!" Bellatrix yelled, tears pricking at her eyes.

Sirius blinked in shock, and Bellatrix stopped. She hadn't meant to explode so suddenly. _The stress must be getting to me more than I thought._

Sirius shook off his surprise, and instead a look of pity replaced it, which was worse.

Bellatrix hated any inadequacies, or showing weakness, and she especially hated people trying to diagnose her troubles with her daughter based on rumor or gossip rags.

Everyone thought they knew the secret to solving her problems. And it was usually the same generic crap, like 'talk to her, open up about your feelings' or some derivation of that. It was infuriating. Dorea didn't care about Bellatrix's feelings, she cared about her actions. And as long as a single blood Purist walked free, Bellatrix wouldn't give her daughter the freedom she wanted. And so, they were at an impasse.

Bellatrix sat back down, grabbing some random piece of parchment and pretending it was important.

"Well, auror Black, if there's nothing else, could you kindly fuck off?" Bellatrix said harshly, not looking at her cousin.

Mercifully, Sirius decided not to be an ass, and went over to her fireplace to grab some floo powder "I let you know if we find anything else professor. Try not to hex any of your students too severely." he half heartedly joked before vanishing in green flame.

Bellatrix let the piece of parchment drop and she stared blankly at the floor.

_Great, now all the marauders are going to have fresh gossip about me. I just hope that damn mudblood Lily doesn't try to stage another intervention. _

She was pulled from her reflection of her cousins idiot friends when her door wards tripped. Someone knocked a second later.

Bellatrix steeled herself, than undid the lock. "Enter"

**Author Note**

**Alright, first Harry-free chapter. Sorry if it was a bit exposition heavy, I just really wanted everyone to be on the same page. And don't worry, the students will become more involved in the story shortly. In the meantime, review if you like, and even if you don't thanks for reading.**


	5. War Musings

**Authors Note**

**To the reviewers that have been asking, yes this will be a Harry/Bellatrix story, but it's going to take a while to build up to that so its natural in the story. **

Sweat dripped off Harry's brow as he went through his workout routine. He was nearly at the end of his push-ups, and his arms were shaking slightly as he dropped down, than back up in a slow rhythm.

_96, 97, 98, 99, 100 and rest._

Harry collapsed to the floor, and pressed his forehead onto the cool floor. He gulped in sweet, cold air, soothing the burning in his lungs. He rolled onto his back, and despite his body screaming in protest he launched into his sit-up set.

_1...2...3..._

As he brought his chin up to touch his knees, Harry let his mind wonder. It was 5:34 am, and he'd already been awake for 57 minutes. It was rare for him to sleep more than four hours at a time, even on the few nights when he didn't have nightmares.

And last night had not been a lucky night. Most of it was blurry, and faded away on waking, but he could remember Hogwarts burning in the night, embers floating up to join the stars, and even from a distance he could hear the screams of those who couldn't escape being burned alive.

It was a common motif for his subconscious, not that it had any shortage of material. To get the image out of his head, Harry recited everything he had learned about the Blood Purists. He had run though his books quickly, and needed to buy more when he went back to the alley to pick up his identity papers.

The Purist appeared to have been started in the mid-seventies, and not as a terrorist organization. Instead, it was a group of pureblood families that had fallen on hard times, and who blamed the muggleborns for their poverty and irrelevance. It was more like an elite club, but they grew dissatisfied with their situations and soon began attacking muggles.

In truth, calling the Blood Purists a single organization at this point wasn't remotely true. Instead, it was small groups of friends operating with the same basic goals, but independent. There was no central organization. This accidental decentralization was the main reason they were so hard to destroy, because even if you eliminate a single cell, it didn't compromise the others.

Additionally, anyone could put on a red robe and claim to be a blood purist, and who was going to stop them? The Death Eaters had a centralized leadership and hierarchy from the beginning, and with the Dark Mark no imposters were tolerated.

But the Purist model had it's challenges, firstly that without a real plan they just lashed out indiscriminately and ineffectively. They targeted muggles, muggleborns, half bloods, even Purebloods if a Purist had a particular score to settle. As such, for the first few years, they just flailed around pointlessly, and so the general public saw them only as a nuisance.

But something changed in the winter of 1978. The Purists changed from a network of only vaguely connected cells into a trained and violent army, able to take on the Aurors directly when raided muggle villages, and attacked muggleborn mages, killing them and their families when able.

The reason why was due to Dumbledore forcing through several new laws, expanding the rights of muggleborns, and the Ministry opened more positions to non-purebloods, though department heads and senior positions remained off limits.

Powerful pureblood families like the Lestranges and Malfoys had feared they would be pushed out of their privileged positions, and so they began pouring money into the Purists and taking leadership positions. Ironically their support of the Purists was the thing that actually pushed them out of their lofty perches, but Harry doubted they saw it that way.

_98...99...100 and rest. _Harry finished his set and lay for a moment on the ground, sweat dripping off him.

This last week of peace had been good for him. He'd been worn down to skin and bones over the last 8 months, and his body needed time to recover back to peak condition. He still wasn't fully back, he thought as his muscles twinged in agony as he lifted himself off the floor. He made his way slowly upstairs to the bathroom.

One thing he understood in his research was that in his world, Voldemort took advantage of existing social conditions. He was just in a position to hijack the movement to catapult himself to the top of society.

In this reality, Slytherin made it to the top through the existing political system, and so he had no motive to support a bunch of destabilizing fanatics. He and most of the really rich families paid lip service towards the 'nobility' of the Purist cause, while remaining neutral.

It was clear to Harry why: they were the ones eroding the other families wealth and influence. As the conflict raged, other families died off, and the neutral Lords acquired their assets and wealth. That wasn't even mentioning the manufacturing of wartime supplies like potions and armor, and selling it to both sides.

Over the next 3 years, an undeclared war raged much like the First War against Voldemort in his world. Casualties were high on both sides, with the Ministry close to cracking. Of course, there were mentions of civilian militias engaging the Purists, and Harry would bet his right eyeteeth that was the Order of the Phoenix, or at least an equivalent.

At the very least it seemed like most of the players on the Light side were still the same. Sirius was still a Marauder (and he was cuffed to see the group was famous enough to warrant small mention in a few different history books) and James and Lily seemed like staunch supporters of Albus, who was unchanged. Harry doubted anything could have shifted him anyway.

Barty Crouch Sr. was Minister of Magic, which was a surprise. His son seemed to have died in a Purist raid in '79, thought Harry was going to confirm it. Wormtail was also KIA, apparently being kidnapped and murdered in January '81, and he saw no evidence that he had betrayed the Light prior to that.

But he wouldn't have been much of a spy if Harry could tell from publicly available sources.

Harry entered the bathroom, and stripped off his armor, leaving it staged on the counter just in case, and holding his wand while he showered. He stepped under the stream of hot water, pondering the situation. Things in 1980 looked bleak, the ministry was close to collapse.

But the Purists threw it all away on Halloween night, 1981.

The Blood Purists attacked Hogsmeade on mass, making a lot of noise, and drawing both the Order and the Ministry to the scene. This included Lily and James Potter, who left their baby son with his paternal grandparents.

The attack was a distraction, a rolling battle to keep the Light focused firmly on them. The real targets were the ancestral Potter and Longbottom estates. Numbers were unclear, but it was a significant portion of the Purists were involved.

The Battle at the Potter Estate was brutal. Lord and Lady Potter may have been getting on in age but they still fought hard to protect their grandson. But their efforts weren't enough. Both they and baby Harry died that night, and the Purists escaped with most of their force intact.

At Longbottom manor, Alice and Frank were both there, having not received the summons for whatever reason. What happened was next unclear, but when the Aurors arrived they found half the estate destroyed and the air saturated with magic.

Bodies were scattered around, mostly Purists, and Neville's parents. But in the epicenter of the destruction lay baby Neville, knocked out and with a familiar lightning shaped scar on his forehead. Tests performed at the scene revealed the signature of the Killing curse, so strong that an Auror that held him recognized the feeling.

It was a miracle, and he was swiftly dubbed the Boy-Who-Lived by the press. He became a rallying cry for the Light, a symbol that the forces of true magic were on their side.

The night may have been a partial victory for the Purists, but it came at a high cost. Reports varied, but most of the reports indicated they lost ~70% of their active fighters that night. Dumbledore, who had been out of the country, raced back and broke the stalemate at Hogsmeade. All but five of the Purist there were captured or killed.

No one made it out of the Longbottom grounds alive.

Speculation about the motive behind the attack was rampant, with the captured Purists being in the dark. It was clear that Neville and Harry were the main targets, but beyond that no one knew why. Harry figured it had something to do with Prophecy. The tactician part of Harry's mind knew that they had traded an army potentially capable of taking over the government for the lives of two infants.

Prophecy held a special place in wizarding society, especially amongst the old families. The unspecific threat presented by the two infants, depending on the wording, would have motivated the leadership into uniting. They may have seen it as the only way to survive.

Not that it worked out for them. They were crippled from that night forward, forced to scale back their operations. Ministry forces took a toll on them, driving them back further into the shadows. Slowly a normal political atmosphere came back. The Purist attacks ceased totally in late 1989, and in 1990 the Ministry officially declared them fully eradicated. The threat slipped from the public concusiness.

Harry finished scrubbing himself off and stepped out into the now steamy bathroom. He spelled himself dry, hit the inside of the armor with a few cleaning spells, and slipped back in.

Harry strolled out into the manor. He had cleaned and repaired the manor, but left most of it bare. Making his way to the kitchen, Harry pondered the Purists brutal return to the public limelight, the attack on Diagon Alley.

Several sources suggest that the Sunday Massacre was part of a grand Purist strategy, but Harry wasn't convinced. The attack on Diagon Alley was sloppy, ill thought out, and only served to eliminate any moderate support for the Purist cause, which he was sure many Purebloods at least sympathized with.

More likely, a group of extremists within the Purists made the plan. None of them escaped the Alley, though they did try. All were young, the oldest being 20 year old Albert Mulciber. It looked like a half-cocked plan to Harry's eye, and he was most surprised they were as successful as they were.

Harry had made a trip to a muggle supermarket and bought mostly ingredients. Coo He pulled out three eggs and pulled out a pan to make some scarmbled eggs. He knew the spells to have it cook without lifting a finger, but he found he liked cooking. It was relaxing, and it occupied his hands. Cleaning was another story. Even after all these years he could still hear Petunias voice shrieking he'd missed a spot.

After the Sunday Massacre, the war was restarted. Expect this time the Ministry were out for blood. In a climate of outrage the DMLE was allowed to circumvent certain laws and due process. Every single suspected Purist was hauled in for interrogation, no exemptions. The ministry even authorized mind arts and Veritaserum on a wide scale. Azkaban was filled up to the brim, and all active Blood Purists were hunted down, with the few that remained free forced to flee the country.

But more took up the Crimson. Purebloods who were dragged out of their beds and interrogated for weeks were enraged, and saw it as persecution of their kind. They watched as their family members were given sham trials and thrown into Azkaban for life.

It's no wonder that Purist ranks swelled.

But the new members were far less brazen than their predecessors, and they mostly targeted other Purebloods. Hostage taking seemed to be their the prefered method of coercion. They reverted to their small disconnected cells just the weather the assualt.

It might very well have gone on like this for years, had the new Dark Lord not arrived and took control of the war.

The man was an enigma shrouded in mystery and rumors. Not even the other Purists had ever seen his face, and he had never entered the field of battle. Except for when he broke out the imprisoned Purists and got them to swear undying loyalty to him.

The mass prison break from Azkaban was still mostly classified, but the few facts that were known made Harry very curious. Firstly, there were no reports of anyone except the Dark Lord involved in the breakout. Apparently the prisoners were just as stunned as the guards, but seeing as how the options were 'Join me or rot in prison for life' they all swore fealty.

But the most interesting part was what he did with the dementors, or rather what he didn't do.

Dementors were powerful weapons, and they had been as much a prize for Voldemort as his trapped Death Eaters. But this Dark Lord had merely diverted them, trapping them in the lower levels.

Perhaps he wasn't skilled enough to bind them to his will, or it was part of a larger strategy. It was clear to Harry that the Dark Lord had a defined plan, and every move was in service to his goal.

With a dedicated army under his control, the Dark Lord was surprisingly passive. He brought all of the other disperate cells under his direct control, and went to ground for months. The public freaked out, and there were many theories as to why, the most popular being he needed to let the former prisoners recover from Azkaban, train them, and solidify his grasp over the organization.

But even two years later, the Purists still played it cautious. They seemed to have devolved, going back to just threatening shop owners and Purebloods, and probably killing muggles. But Harry noticed they often stole valuable supplies from the shops they destroyed, likely for their own uses.

Perhaps the Dark Lord was waiting for just the right moment to attack, and was building up his supplies for open war. On one hand, he preserved his forces, on the other so did the Light. Harry knew that currently it was in a state of balance, both sides positioning for the inevitable outbreak of conflict.

Harry was going to come in as a wild card, and throw a wrench in the system. It would be fun. From the outside, the Ministry seemed strong, and Dumbledore had his forces, meaning hopefully Harry could focus totally on offence.

But not knowing what the Purists were planning made him very uneasy. It was clear he was missing vital pieces to their plan.

Best to attack and put them on the backfoot. Stall whatever master plan they had cooking.

But he needed more current information as a jumping off point, and the only way he would get that was by getting into the DMLE case files. He also had a source in the form of Yaxley, still asleep in the bunker. But he needed Veritaserum to get the most out of him, and he didn't have a whole lunar cycle to brew it himself. Not to mention the ingredients alone would drain his remaining gold.

Luckily, the DMLE kept a supply in their secure lock-up, so he could kill two birds with one stone.

Breaking into the Ministry wouldn't be easy, but Harry had done it several times in his world, so that wasn't much of a problem.

Harry cracked the eggs into a bowl, added some salt and pepper and mixed it all together. A pad of butter went into the hot pan to melt. Harry waited until it was fully liquid and smelled nutty before he poured the eggs in and stirred them vigorously.

The Ministry was protected by a series of truly impressive wards that forced any magical transport into the main hall, along with a restricted floo network. Inside every entrant was given an invisible tracking charm alarms everywhere to detect intruders, including all the lifts, and the Aurors had a 24 hour patrol.

Harry smiled a little, remembering the first time he broke into the Ministry at 15. The only reason he and his friends weren't immediately discovered and arrested was because Voldemort and co. had painstakingly bypassed all the ward defences in the main entrance and the Department of Mysteries.

_Ahh, how was I ever that naive? _Harry wondered as he put the finished eggs on a plate.

Harry could get into the Ministry, but he would first have to infiltrate it normally.

He had another trip into Knockturn today, to pick up his identity. And he would need a set of robes to go with it. Glamor rings were one of the items detected by the Ministry system, and normal glamors would never make it through the front door. He would need to use non-magical disguises. It wouldn't do for anyone to make the connection between him and James Potter.

Harry dumped the finished eggs onto a plate and ate quickly, not bothering to sit down. His internal clock was sat at 6:02. The Forger wouldn't be open until 7:00. So, Harry had some time to kill. His body was still aching from his work out, so dueling practice was out of the question, but some magical exercises never hurt.

Harry put his plate in the sink, along with the dirty pan and utensils, and charmed the sink to clean it all.

He walked down into the cellar. It had been filled with barrels and bulk items, which he had relocated to some of the bedrooms. The wide expanse of stone cut from the island was perfect for Harry. He hated windows, and wooden walls thin enough for enemies to curse through.

He was living down here now, at least until he could create a new base of his own. The problem with using a previously occupied building as a base was the fact that he had no idea what else was out there about this hideout.

Did one of the Cadwell's classmates come over here for a week one summer? Maybe they're still alive, or wrote it in their diary. Perhaps a merchant made note of it, or a laborer wrote a complaint that was buried in the Ministry files? There was simply no way for him to know. He had a few places in mind, one of his favorites being a small meadow in Ireland. Moving so much earth for an underground bunker without anyone noticing would be time consuming, but it would be worth it.

Harry sat down on the bare rock in the lotus position, and began a breathing exercise. He needed to center himself, to reconnect to the Truth Albus had helped him see lifetimes ago.

_Sweat dripped down Harry's brow, and he shook a little in his seat. A foot in front of him, a needle floated jerkily in the air, twitching wildly. Harry strained slightly, trying to keep his mind clear and the pin steady. _

_When he had returned to Hogwarts after his murderous summer, Dumbledore had told him he wasn't ready for what he had to teach. Only years later, with the Ministry fallen and Hogwarts under a siege had Dumbledore finally agreed he was powerful enough to learn wandless magic. _

_That was 6 months ago, and all Harry had learned was that wands were the single greatest invention in magical history._

_Directly manipulating anything without a external focusing source meant it took a ridiculous amount of magical energy, because the magic had to get from his core to the object in question. Essentially, he had to saturate the air in a radius around him with magic to do anything, and it had a stupidly short range. He was advancing slowly, from being able to suspend the pin for 10 seconds all the way to the dizzy heights of 13 seconds. Over the course of a full week. _

_Dumbledore had told him to reach out his senses and feel the pin, and exert his will to command it. Or rather command the magic around and within the object. Whatever the fuck that meant._

_He could 'feel' the pin, but it somehow felt wrong, like its edges were larger and rounder than it really was. There was also a constant buzzing, or fuzziness, that made everything indistinct._

_A drop of sweat fell from his forehead and landed on his clenched fist. It was enough to break his concentration, and the pin clattered down onto the Headmasters desk. _

_Harry let out the breath he had been holding and collapsed backwards into the chair, panting like he had just sprinted ten miles. He glared at the pin as it lay there on the wood. He hated it._

_Over the past two years, Harry had burned through material at lightning speed. He had gone from know nothing about wards to be able to construct and break, understanding how each element worked together, sometimes seeing weaknesses before his teacher did. _

_He had mastered organic and non-organic transfiguration, and developed a special technique to control swarms of small objects. His charms were master class, and his animations surpassed even Flitwicks. _

_With the War growing ever more violent, Harry led small squads on hit and run attacks. He was nearly unbeatable as a duelist, and the Death Eaters had learned to fear him._

_In short, without boasting, Harry was a prodigy. Promising to become the equal of Voldemort or Dumbledore within a decade if that. _

_But then he would go to Dumbledore's office twice a week and expend almost the same amount of energy to make a pin wobble in the air like a first year._

_If it was some sort of trick, an unwinnable situation to keep him humble, than it was an effective one. He had become addicted to success, and now seeing it take so long to achieve so little was physically painful._

_Harry looked up from his slumped position at Dumbledore. The man was quite the taskmaster when it came down to it, and his twinkling eyes offered no reprieve._

"_12 seconds. You must try again." He said sagely, and Harry was fed up. He had bitten his tongue long enough._

"_Headmaster, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't feel this is the best use of my time. If you agree, I'd prefer to focus on actually fighting the War." Harry said sharply. Dumbledore still didn't understand Harry needed practical skills to win, not some esoteric skills that served only as party tricks._

_Dumbledore just kept looking at him in the same infuriatingly calm manner. Harry stared straight back, waiting for a probe to his occlumency barrier, but none came._

_Instead, the older man sighed. "My boy, I must insist that you continue down this path. It is difficult, I know, but it will serve you well when you master it. I cannot give you this revelation, you must discover it on your own." he said, echoing the sentiments from the past few times Harry had protested._

_Harry wanted to pull his hair out at the vague reasoning "I doubt the Death Eaters care if I can float a pin, Headmaster. I do not have time to waste throwing myself at a brick wall for some wholly unspecific benefit. If this is so important, tell me why." Harry said harshly. _

_Dumbledore studied him for a few moments._

"_How do I know who is knocking on my door without seeing them?" he asked smoothly, and Harry blinked stupidly at him._

"_I, ugh, an identification rune?" He guessed with an exasperated groan. Where was the old man going with this?_

"_There is no such rune. There is no enchantment or spell of any kind, and yet I know who exactly who knocks on my door without fail." Dumbledore said serenely. Harry had no idea what the man was driving at, and it must have shown on his face because Dumbledore dismissed him with a wave of his hand._

"_Just think on it, my boy."_

_Harry didn't waste any time in storming out of the office and through the halls, his temper begging him to destroy something. He nearly made his way to the room of requirement when a voice called out to him from down the corridor._

"_Harry!" he turned and saw Hermione rushing up the hall, worry clear in her face. Harry felt his anger fade at the sight of his old friend. She always had a calming effect on him. _

_She came up to him, talking so quick Harry had trouble keeping up "I thought you were still with the Headmaster is everything all right why do you look like that why-" "Hermione, calm down." Harry said with a small chuckle. Despite everything that had changed in the last few years, his friends remain constant and dependable._

_All the former DA and a few besides were deeply involved in the War, with the best venturing out with Harry. In truth, Harry suspected Hermione was silently jealous of his newly found prowess, and he knew Ron was._

_But both took it in stride, and were trying to improve their skills to complement his. Ron had spun out his tactical know-how into truly devious battle plans, while Hermione dove into the obscure and complex magics in the restricted section. _

_It was a reminder that as bleak as things were, he was not alone. _

_Perhaps Hermione could help him with his current problem. She had tried to learn wandless magic as well, only to find she didn't have the talent for it. Still, Harry kept her up to date on her progress, if only to have someone to bounce ideas off._

"_I was in with Dumbledore, but I've hit a wall." he said with a sigh, and the two sat down on a nearby bench. Hermione looked sympathetic as he explained Dumbledore's cryptic clue._

"_Well, I've been looking through all the books that mention wandless magic, and none of them are very specific. It's rather frustratingly vague." Hermione complained with an annoyed look. _

_If Harry did have a revelation, he was sure Hermione would badger him endlessly to write it down._

"_What do you make of the question about him knowing when someone is at his door?" Harry asked, still mulling it over. Hermione frowned in concentration "I don't know. The Roman wizard Cicero the Younger wrote about wandless magic that mastering it will 'open a wizards inner eye and let him see without sight' but that doesn't help us." Harry frowned at that. In truth, with his eyes closed he could picture the needle, but it was blurry and indistinct._

_Perhaps he was thinking about this in the wrong way. What if he extended his magic without trying to change it. Harry let his eyes slip closed and reached out his senses. At first, all he felt was a buzzing emptiness, like an untuned television. He stretched out his senses and felt the metal of a suit of armor buzzing: he could feel the smooth, cold steel, but he also felt something different._

_It was like the steel was tensed up, ready to pounce. _

_Wait, these suits of armor were enchanted to animate in defense of the school. Was that this feeling? _

_Harry stretched his perception out to Hermione, and drew back sharply. The buzzing was all encompassing, bleeding out from her body, overpowering his senses. Harry popped his eyes open, annoyed, but then he felt something strange going on in her left pocket. It felt sharp and dead, like a blank space._

"_Harry, what is it?" Hermione asked sharply at his reaction. Harry looked at her oddly. "What's in your pocket?" he asked, and Hermione looked shocked. _

_She pulled out a sheathed dagger, and Harry drew back from it instinctively "It's just a side project, an enchantment to cut through dragonhide and enchanted armor." she said, looking at Harry strangely._

_Now that was interesting. _

"_Hermione, can you go down the hall and cast a simple spell where I can't see it?" he asked excitedly, and Hermione must have seen it, because she dutifully obeyed his request. Harry closed his eyes and once again stretched out his mind, and tracked the massive fuzzy shape that was his friend. The form shifted swinging a long thin shape, and the buzz spread through the surrounding area, propagating outwards, spreading warmth with it._

"_Heating charm" he said without opening his eyes, and Hermione moved sharply. She moved again, and a sphere of buzzing magic shot out of her, travelling down the hall away from him. _

_The sphere felt like sharp movement, a yank…"Disarming spell!" Harry yelled out in triumph, and he jumped up from his seat. Hermione looked surprised, but he could see the understanding in her eyes._

"_I'll be back in a few!" Harry said to her, and sprinted off down the halls back to the headmasters office at a breakneck pace._

"_Laughing Lollipops!" he yelled at the Guardian, only waiting a second for it to move aside before racing up the moving staircase. _

_He didn't bother knocking on the door. If his theory was correct, it would be pointless. _

_Dumbledore hadn't moved from his seat and he gave Harry a knowing smile, before his eyes flicked to the pin still laying on the desk. _

_Harry didn't try to lift it with his magic, instead just reaching out and feeling it. It felt like it was compressed, and the constant buzz around him was no longer just noise. It was ambient magic around them, it saturated the air. _

_Instead of pushing his own magic out to try and move it, he copied what he had 'seen' with Hermione's magic. He pushed on the magic surrounding him, and it spread outwards, stretching its fingers towards the pin, and lifting it steadily into the air. _

_It hung there, rock solid, for 30 seconds. _

_There was a spell on the pin, holding it in, and he sent a poke at it. The spell unraveled and the pin spilled out into a smooth river rock. _

_Harry floated it back to his hand and let it fall into his hand. Opening his eyes, he saw it was a stone from the lake. He grinned like a fool. Dumbledore was looking at him with pride shining through his eyes._

"_How could I not see it, it was right in front of me?" Harry wondered aloud. It was so obvious in hindsight. _

_The Headmaster chuckled "So it always is with great discoveries. It is only simple in hindsight, I assure you." The old teacher leaned back in his chair. "I hope this was worth the effort."_

_Harry nodded. This would be invaluable in the War, the spatial awareness of knowing what an opponent was casting even when they were silent... He owed him an apology "Headmaster, I-" "No. The time when I was the teacher and you the student is at an end." Dumbledore interrupted with a sad look._

_He seemed to age decades as the smile fell from his face, and the twinkle vanished. He had never looked so...old, and tired. _

"_Ever since I heard the prophecy involving you, I knew that your life would be one of hardship. I fought against that, tried to give you a normal childhood, and fond memories free of strife. And I failed in that. I wasn't strong enough to admit it before, but this is not my War. It's yours, and all the young children I have watched come through these hallowed halls._

_It might have gone on, with me knowing I needed to destroy your childhood in order to prepare you for the coming conflict, but unable to bring myself to do it. You proved stronger than I me, Harry. You took your fate into your own hands." Albus was looking off into the distance, but than he stood._

"_You are not a child anymore, Harry, and it is time for you to accept the mantle of responsibility. My time is at its end." Dumbledore came around the desk, and Harry belatedly stood up. Dumbledore stood in front of him, and he looked ancient in that moment. _

_Dumbledore held out a single bony hand, skin stretched paper thin. Harry waited a moment, than shook his mentors hand. _

"_You may call me Albus if you like. I shall do everything in my power to advise you." Dumbledore said respectfully, and than it sunk in exactly what this meant._

_For all the time he'd known the Headmaster, he had been a shining beacon of hope. As long as he was there, they were safe. Even with all the danger and death of his many adventures, at the end the Headmaster would be there at the end with a wise word and a soft smile. _

_But now, Harry was in charge. Albus could not protect him anymore. _

_Harry took a deep steadying breath, and felt determination surge up through his chest. He nodded at his former mentor. "I won't let you down Head-, Albus." Harry said as firmly as he could._

_The old man smiled kindly, though he could see the sorrow in his eyes. "You cannot let me down Harry. Never."_

_Than, he took a step back, and sat down in one of the guest chairs. "So, what is your first move, Commander?" Albus asked calmly._

Harry sighed at the memory. Albus had sorely underestimated Harry's ability to fuck up. If he had known how this would end, he would never have put him in charge. Of course, the Order weren't immediately told he was the one calling the shots, but Harry's style was unmistakable, and by the time Albus died, no one had any illusions about who was in command.

Harry shook himself. His mental clock sat at 6:22, and he couldn't spend all day lost in memory.

He reached his consciousness out, and felt all the magic in the estate. There were many enchantments woven into the foundation, a feeling of unchanging stone, braced against the march of time. Underneath the rock, a network of fortified and enchanted pipes gathered seawater, removed the salt and any debris, and moving it throughout the house.

The faucets could heat water on demand, so too with the showers. But other than that, and the Caldwell family safe, only traces of magic were apparent.

Harry reached out, brushing against the wards of the estate. He had added a few extra quirks designed to slip up anyone who tried to sneak in, but mostly they were unchanged. There was a limit to how much he could alter the scheme, without just taking it down and starting from scratch.

Then there were his additions to the grounds. In the garden and lawn he could feel the jagged explosive hexes buried just beneath the soil, tuned to go off either on his command or when an unknown magical signature went over them. In the house he had seated a couple potion bombs in the walls with similar triggers, and more fire runes to set the whole structure ablaze.

He had pre-shattered some of the support beams and walls, concealment sharp metal edges on the inside that would burst out and swarm any attackers. The magical light fixtures had been modified to overcharge, turning them into miniature suns for a few moments. The fireplaces could spew out noxious gas.

All in all, this place was a deathtrap to anyone but him. Hopefully he would never have need of it, but better to be safe than sorry.

He swept over the whole island, making sure nothing was out of place.

All living things had a small amount of magic, but they were harder to visualize. It was a good exercise in attention to detail, and the repetitive nature of the task was the closet he got to relaxing anymore.

At 7:06, Harry finished his sweep and stood up. Time to get to work.

**oooOOOooo**

Harry popped around North England a couple of times before landing in Knockturn Alley. He used one of the deeper entry points this time. With a permanent watch on Diagon Alley, it was simply too much of a risk to go near it in a glamor. If they had enchanted eyes, or some other crap, he'd be made, and that might limit his tactical options.

Harry was wearing the snobby Pureblood glamor as he made his way to the Forgers hovel. He weaved through the streets with ease, avoiding pickpockets and grifters as he went. Finally, he arrived at the hovel, and with a perfunctory knock strode in.

The Forger was sitting scribbling at his desk, a huge owl perched on a stand that hadn't been there last time. The illusionary windows had been changed to a snow covered mountains. It was quite breathtaking, really. If he couldn't sense the magic, he might have mistaken it for real.

There was now three guards hidden under invisibility cloaks around the room, with a new one positioned behind the door to cast at an assailants back.. The Forger noticed him and flashed a pearly smile that didn't quite manage to disguise the irritation in his eyes.

"Ah, Mr. Grey. So nice to see you again. If you'd care to take a seat, I'll be right with you." He said a touch tensely, returning his attention to the parchment.

Harry sat down in the chair across from him, and waited patiently. The Forger wrote with some force, nearly tearing the parchment at a couple of points. Whoever he was writing, it likely didn't bode well for them. People who irritated the Forger ended up suffering horrible accidents that others would hopefully learn from.

The man finished his missive and rather violently shrank it to attach to the waiting owls leg. The creature took off immediately afterwards, flying into the back where an open window was.

The Forger sighed, and smoothed back his hair "My apologies Mr. Grey. Now, I assume you are here for your replacement papers?" he asked, seeming to relax.

Harry smiled thinly "Naturally. I trust they are all current with the Ministry records?"

The Forger reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out a thick file. "Yes, everything was synchronized at 9:26 last time. You could walk into the Wizengamot chambers with these documents." He said a touch snottily.

_High maintenance art-types, always the same. _Harry mused to himself.

He checked through the stack of documents quickly and found them all to his satisfaction.

Harry stood to go, but was halted when the Forger cleared his throat.

"Mr. Grey, I hope you realise that this particular work will not hold up to excessive scrutiny." He said, somewhat bashfully. Harry gave him a smile "It will not come to that my good man. It only needs to impress a couple low level employees at worst." he lied charmingly.

The Forger nodded a little jerkily "Of course, of course. I simply want to be clear so as to avoid any misunderstandings." he claimed, seeming to be talking to himself more than Harry.

With a final wave, Harry left the man to his consternations. _Odd. Not much can spook the Forger. May want to look into this when I get the chance._

Harry wasn't a big believer in coincidence. It was usually safer to assume something was connected than to have faith it wasn't.

Now, with his identity fully established he felt relatively safe to go into the ministry, but a glamor ring would set off alarms, as would the enchantments woven into his armor.

Besides, it was too early. He needed to hit up a robe shop, as well as a couple muggle stores.

_Merlin I hate infiltration missions. _

**Authors Notes:**

**Next chapter, breaking into the Ministry, as well as yet more complications to disrupt Harry's plans! **

**If you hate where I'm going or have any questions, feel free to PM me or leave a review.**


	6. Uninvited Guest(s)

At 4:52 PM, Harry apparated into the main atrium of the Ministry. He was dressed in the blandest brown robes he could find. They were clean, but not obviously wealthy. He had similarly dyed his hair a standard shade of brown, and covered his distinctive green eyes with grey contact lenses. Make-up darkened his skin tone to a more ruddy complexion, and aided in covering his identifying facial scars, especially the damning lighting bolt on his forehead.

The goal was to look as nondescript as possible, for any questioning eyes to brush past him without any further thought. This was aided by his choice of entry time. Ministry workers got off at 5:00, and the that meant he was surrounded by a crush of both workers going home, and the arrival of the evening shift.

The atrium was as such, packed with hundreds of scurrying government employees. Standing against the walls were 15 Aurors, their heads swiveling around, looking for anything suspicious. More security than in Harry's world.

He didn't recognize most of them, but he did she a shock of pink hair slowly shifting to purple further out. It was good to know Tonks was still an Auror, and likely just the same brash personality he had known.

It took a few minutes of navigating to get up the desk that allowed egress into the Ministry proper, and there was a long line of employees getting checked in.

Most of the regulars could go through pretty quickly, but Harry did notice several more Aurors behind the wand weighing clerks examining all comers.

When it was finally his turn, Harry strolled up to the counter and pulled his wand out of his pocket. Wand holsters were mostly associated with duelists, and he didn't want to raise any suspicion.

The young clerk seemed haggard, his eyes constantly flicking towards the clock. "Wand on the tray please." the man repeated routly, barely glancing at Harry.

Harry sat the wand on the silver tray, watching as the enchanted quill began to scrawl out his false details. Behind him, he noticed the Auror staring at him was Dawlish.

_Well, they must take security seriously to have a senior Auror out here. Than again, he was never the most powerful wizard. _

Back in his world, Dawlish had been considered a good Auror, but was never very firm in his convictions. He had continued working for the Death Eater run government, though he never took the mark himself.

He had been killed during a prisoner transport by a stray spell. It wasn't a big loss for the Death Eaters. He was more skilled at administration and impressing his superiors, when the War was turning toward raw power and combat prowess.

Still, his clear eyes were quite effective at a piercing gaze, which he leveled at Harry. He ignored it. Best to look as calm and composed as possible. The clerk glanced down and blew out his cheeks.

"Purpose of your visit sir?" he asked, casting an annoyed look at the line growing behind Harry. "Research in the records department." Harry answered quickly.

They were public access, and were one of the few things any citizen could access here without an appointment.

The clerk nodded sharply, eyes back on the clock. "Take a lift at the end of the hall, third floor, archives are on your left."

The clerk practically through the wand back to Harry, and shooed him away. Dawlish didn't watch him leave, instead transferring his gaze to the witch now at the counter.

Harry maneuvered through the crowd pouring out of the lifts, and made it onto one packed with workers. "Level 3." Harry said smoothly, and rode the elevator down in silence. Paper airplanes swirled around above their heads, and no one said a word during the brief ride.

When they got to the level, Harry extracted himself without much trouble, but it was easier as he was the only one to get off at that level.

It was no surprise that absolutely no one cared about the record department. It contained past issues of the Prophet, voting records and minutes, and all of the other mundae public documents the Ministry produced by the ream every day. All the sensitive or restricted material was kept by its respective departments.

But this place did have value to Harry. He gave a cursory nod to the attendant nearby, and weaved through the claustrophobic maze of shelfs overflowing with papers. As he'd expected, no one was here, and Harry had free reign.

He need recent intelligence, and he needed specific information. The real stuff would be in the Auror files, but if those contained everything he needed they'd have already won this War.

Prophets starting in 1994 was the shelf he started at, and he pulled the january 1st issue, and flipped to the business section. This was going to take a while.

**oooOOOooo**

As 10:00 rolled around, Harry had nearly gotten up to the current papers. The business section had provided a wealth of information.

Purebloods were obsessed with wealth, sometimes even more so than blood, and often linked their violent activities with their economic ones. Not to mention, there had to be some Blood Purists who didn't participate in direct combat, and so hadn't been caught yet. The Purists would need supplies that were difficult to trace, access to banking and other things that could only be down legally. And any War required a constant flow of gold.

But the current climate made getting rich relatively easy.

It was a simple scheme. Step one, learn what who is going to be raided. Step two, buy up or increase stock of whatever commodity they sell. Step three, after the raid, step into the void left by the vacant target. Step four, profit.

They could also short targets on the stock market, or buy heavily into competitors, but this was easier to track when done on the kind of scale the Purists needed to work at.

With the benefit of their foreknowledge, they were able to move faster than the competition, and many even brought up the destroyed buildings so they could rebuild them and profit from the sympathy.

After a few hours of work, he had a long list of names. It was no shock that Lucius Malfoy was prominent, and he seemed to own half the robe shops in the country. They disguised themselves, working through intermediates, but Harry had the benefit of knowing what it looked like from past experience.

As he worked, a Ministry employee would pass through every fourty or so minutes. They were dressed like a clerk, but in truth they were part of the security service running routine sweeps. The patrol schedule was thankfully consistent with his prior knowledge.

They peaked down and found him hard at work looking through dry stock reports, and probably figured he was some middling broker looking for an advantage, or doing some busy work.

The next one would be coming through in one minute by his count. Once they passed the clock was ticking, and speed was of the essence. The main benefit of the particular area he was in was that it had much lower security than the rest of the Ministry. Who would want to steal a bunch of old papers?

But it was an entry point he could exploit. And directly above the worthless old papers was his prize: the DLME secure vault. Which, according to his magical senses, had been last visited at 9:02, and seemed sealed for the night.

The security guard this time was a kindly looking older woman with greying hair and a motherly smile. But she couldn't fully disguise the dragonhide armor under her robes, Harry knew the buckle design far too well. And she walked with an ever so slight limp on her left leg, probably the injury that consigned her to this job

She walked up to him, and he pretended not to notice her standing above him until she cleared her throat.

Harry started a little, watching as a flash of amusement went through the woman's eyes. "I'm sorry dear, but the archive is closing for the night." she said sweetly, and Harry blinked rapidly "Oh dear, I'm so sorry. Completely lost track of time, you understand?" He stuttered sheepishly as he tried to gather up all the old Prophets.

"It's alright dear, happens to the best of us." she said kindly, and then walked away to look for any more stray scholars.

Now the clock was ticking. She wouldn't pass through this section on her way back towards the lifts, but the tracking charm on him would notice if he tried to just hide here.

Harry swept his wand and sent the papers flying back towards their respective shelves, than he went over to a specific shelf. He levitated it to the side, revealing bare rock. Four feet on the other side was an unused bit of tunnel for the London Tube. It had been an oversight that it came so close to the Ministry, and the wizards had swiftly put a stop to any further construction. Had it hit any other level they would have added more defences and set up surveillance, but honestly who cared about the records department?

He had visited the tunnel earlier today, and had drawn a runic scheme that would allow him to circumvent the wards. But he had to finish it on this side, and that would be easy for anyone to detect. Harry pulled out two of the focusing crystals, and swifty drew a lopsided triangular rune with the tip of his wand. It was really just an addition to the existing ward scheme, and it would create a small gap just barely big enough to apparate through.

The problem with this was that even the ambient detection charms the security personal cast would be detected the crystals, meaning he had to be out and back in within a single patrol.

He set up the two crystals on the furthest points, and lit them up with magic, before casting a basic illusion on the whole area to keep anyone from spotting the ambient light. He had taken 2 minutes, 11 seconds so far.

Harry forced himself to slowly walk out of the maze of cabinets, sauntering up to the lift. His countdown ticked along, each second wasting increasing his risk.

He rode the lift down to the Atrium, and saw that it was deserted except for a couple Aurors milling around the security station and the front desk clerk. Harry did his best to remain nonchalant as he walked towards the are where the tracking charm was automatically removed and he could apparate away.

The clerk was already deep into an issue of the Quibbler, and barely noticed him as he walked past. One of the Aurors, a young man (this was a shitty assignment more seasoned Aurors avoided) gave him a quick nod, which Harry returned prefunctly, trying to look as exhausted as he could. At 6 minutes, 53 seconds, he finally disapparated.

Harry apparated to the edge of London and immediately turned and sprinted down the street. He checked himself for any other tracking charms, and finding none apparated straight down into the darkened section of tunnel. He had his satchel there, as well as his armor staged there. He stripped out of the brown robes, and put on his armor.

The normal feeling of protection returned, and he relaxed a little. If discovered he would have to fight his way. Also, he slipped on his Pureblood glamor ring. It was already compromised by the Forger and the incident with Dorea, so he was willing to lose it if need be.

8 minutes 20 seconds, he apparated back into the Archive hall. The magical lights had dimmed, shrouding the whole place in eerie shadows.

Harry wasted no time in scanning for anyone nearby, with his senses picking up nothing. He pulled the crystals from the wall, and blasted away his rune. It would be worthless for getting out undetected, as he'd have to leave it in place in order to leave. He couldn't risk the Ministry knowing he had broken in.

Harry leviated himself up to a specific point, just over some shelves. He pulled out four focusing crystals, and set them up in a perfect square. In between them, he drew two interlocking runes that would bypass the wards on the DMLE level. Doing this from the outside was nearly impossible with the full weight of the ward scheme against him, but they didn't expect an attack from inside the ministry. Plus, he could precisely sense where the wards were and how to manipulate them.

If a normal runemaster tried this it would take hours of careful prodding to figure out what Harry could feel in a moment.

13 minutes flat, and Harry finished the the scheme. Lit up with magic, he cast another illusion charm on it, than silently apparated through the three feet of stone.

Harry landed in a crouch in the pitch black room. He strained his senses looking for any tripped alarms, staying still for an agonizing 10 seconds. None of the alarms began blaring, and he sighed in relief.

One lumos charm later, and he saw he saw a decent sized rooms filled with enchanted filing cabinets, all locked. At one end of the room were dozens of enchanted quills for copying files. The master copies always remained in this room, and were spelled as such.

Harry walked up to the counter, and smirked. They had been lapse in their spell creation, and a few quick animation adjustments gave Harry full authority to copy everything in the main files. Harry pulled a huge stack of parchment rolls from his bag, and set them up to record in place of the authorized parchment.

He set the search parameter for any mentions of Blood Purists or their equipment, as well as any intelligence on future attacks. With just a flick of his wand, the quills sprang into motion and the files began flying through the air, resting just long enough for their contents to be copied before they soared back.

He would go through the material later at his leisure. Best to grab everything he could now, because breaking back in would be a pain in the neck.

Standing apart from the regular files, and sealed in a wrought iron cage was the sensitive files. In order for a file to land in their, it had to contain information that placed members of the DMLE or civilians in grave danger if it got out.

Back in Harry's world, it was primarily used for undercover case files, where the Aurors or informants were constantly in grave danger.

It would be good information to have, but Harry was quickly dissuaded when he probed the defences. It was a mass of wards authorizations, blood requirements, intent sensors, and one needed the key to even have a chance of busting in.

Harry instead turned his attention to the back left wall, which held sensitive equipment such as a pensive, a full suit of Mithril armor and a few other enchanted relics with fringe uses.. At one end in a secured lockbox were the potions. He couldn't use the venom on this one, so instead Harry carefully pointed his wand at the lock, gently manipulating the magic directly.

It took a full 10 minutes for him to coax the lock open without activating any of the security measures. Once it was open, there were only six vials inside, five of them sealed. Truth serum.

It was expensive, and it only took three drops to make most wizards spill all their secrets. It was only used sparingly in interrogations due to its harsh side effects, and every drop had to be accounted for. Harry picked up the opened vial, finding it almost full.

Harry opened the dropper, and extracted an orb of about one half milliliter of the precious serum, about 10 drops, with his magic. It would be noticed, but hopefully they would start an internal investigation rather than suspect someone broke in.

It would be good for them to do anyway. He would be floored if the Purists didn;'t have at least one spy in the DMLE.

Harry transferred the potion into his own bottle. He walked over to the shelfs of parchment filled with handwritten notes, and a few pictures that were also copied over, printed into the proper place and moving when applicable.

It showed no sign of slowing down anytime soon.

_These are all active cases? I really don't want to see their clearance rate_.

Harry had just nine minutes before the next sweep, and he was beginning to get antsy. He had the archiving go from most recent backwards, and he could just barely track the dates being used. It was just barely back into last year.

At the five minute mark, he had no choice but to stop the process. He let the final few files finish up, than put all the parchment into his satchel and returned everything back to the way it was when he had arrived.

2 minutes away, he apparated through the ward gap, landing on the top of a shelf with far more noise than he comfortable with. Moving swiftly, he grabbed the focusing crystals and smoothed the ceiling back to its original state. Harry than disillusioned himself and muddied his magical signature.

Harry rolled off the self and landed silently, than went over to one of the corners, and pointed his wand out. If the sweep detected him, he'd have no choice but to stun the guard and obliviate them.

For the Greater Good, of course.

After the patrol came through, Harry could exit by dropping down the lift shaft to the Atrium level, distract the guards and apparate away before they wised up. Easy. He'd done more with broken limbs.

Harry stood there, trying to be as quiet as possible, when he noticed the sweep had yet to arrive. His clock rolled past 40 minutes. If they had detected him, they would be rushing in to take him, not just letting him sit here.

Perhaps they lengthened the partol cycle once everyone was gone for the night.

5 minutes turned into 10, than 20, than 30. Harry had felt no movement on this level. His arm ached from holding his wand up.

Harry had learned to trust his instincts, and right now they were telling him something was very wrong. The safe move would be to sacrifice 2 his focus crystals and get the fuck out of here the way he got in, but something drew him out of his hiding place.

He re-applied his camouflage, and added silencing charms and a scent damper before he crept down the halls nearly blind.

He made it back to the darkened lifts, and reached his sense out. All the Lifts were all sealed at the highest level, and Harry felt the locking spells in place. This was all wrong. Harry forced the grates open without sending up an alarm, and stepped into the darkened shaft.

He levitated down slowly enough to not cause any noise, and found that all the levels he passed were empty. He made it down to the Atrium, and here at least there must be a few people down here.

There weren't.

The hall was darkened, moody blue light around. The fountain gurgled softly, the only noise. Harry crept down the dark stones, and found no signs of a fight.

He went over to the closed security booth. Harry tentatively unlocked the door, and let it creak open slowly.

As the faint light streamed in, Harry could only just make out a jumble of shapes on the ground.

It was the security detail, all with the glassy eyes that could only come from the Killing Curse.

Harry spotted the kindly woman who had told him it was time to leave, and the freckled young Auror who had nodded at him mixed in. The clerk's copy of the Quibbler was tossed in as well.

Harry straightened slightly. They must have died in the last hour or so, and were dumped here, out of the way.

_Looks like someone else had the idea to break in tonight. But what's their target?_

Harry stepped over the corpses, trying to be respectful, over to a small table. Over it was a paper map that tracked all the wards on each level of the Ministry. Harry swept his wand, and the overall ward alerts came up. He read it quickly, finding a large list.

The first group of 10 had arrived at 10:15 PM, and they compromised the wards The Dark detectors was tripped 28 times in a span of 3 minutes. Than they made their way into the Department of Mysteries, where the map got a lot less specific.

A second group of 8 had arrived at 10:32, but they had come down the elevator from street level, and they had gotten badges. The first name sprang out at Harry.

Neville Longbottom, visitor.

_Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me._

Tonight was the battle of the DOM. But unlike in his world, he could see no Order cavalry arriving to save the day. The teenagers were outnumbered and out of position with no backup. Except him.

Harry swore silently, than tore out of the corpse filled office towards the DOM.

**oooOOOooo**

It took only a couple minutes to sprint down to the DOM entrance, the rotating chamber. Several of the doors were marked with chalk 'x's. Harry had no time for such primitive methods.

He instead reached out his senses to the spinning enchantment, and poured magical energy into it. The entire room quaked underneath his feet as it fought him, but Harry's will could not be denied.

A sound like glass shattering heralded the enchantments defeat, and the room settled. Now, all the door were locked to a single destination, and Harry reached out his senses to find any living people. There was a concentration of magical beings down the third door from, as well as a strange dead space.

The Veil. Next to nothing was known about it, except that it was old and anyone who entered were never seen again. Harry opened the door silently, hoping they hadn't heard his brutal destruction of the wards.

He slipped down the long hallway leading up to the Veil atop its dias. Harry heard a voice echoing out, and as he crept forward he could make them out.

"... over the Prophecy Longbottom. Otherwise your friends will suffer. Horribly." A familiar voice drawled smuggly. _Dolohov._

Harry came up to the edge of the tunnel, and took in the scene silently.

On the dias was Neville, in torn robes with some blood running down his cheek. He stood tall, his chest puffed out, but there was panic and fear on his face. He was gripping a shining orb in his left hand, and was pointing his wand at the stands.

Next to him was a dirty Ginny, her right arm a bloody mess clutched to her chest. She was trying to grip her wand with her left, but her arm shook violently. Two others were behind them.

A girl with black hair and hazel eyes, and Harry could see the resemblance to himself in the sweep of her jawline, and the fire in her eyes was something he was far too familiar with.

Rose Potter, clearly. Nice to see she was standing with the Boy-who-lived. She looked like she was a few seconds from lashing out, but was being held back by a black haired boy with blue eyes.

If he was in a betting mood, he'd say that was Orion Black. He looked wounded as well, hunched over and seemingly near to crumpling.

He peeked around the gallery and frowned when he saw ten Blood Purists, and four students as hostages. Hermione, Ron, Luna, and boy with auburn hair who he guessed was Alex Potter, were all being held by different Purists, with their wands pressed into the teenagers necks.

The remaining six were standing opposite Neville in tight formation.

All of them were still in their full crimson robes, and there was an ease to their stance. Harry hoped the Order wasn't far away, but he couldn't take the risk.

He felt a pang of sympathy looking at that damn scar on Neville's forehead. Seeing all of his old friends, it was shocking just how young they all were. Less shocking was how afraid they all were.

It didn't matter. His only priority was getting them out of here alive.

Managing a combat encounter was difficult, but having to also protect a bunch of half trained kids made this more dangerous. He needed to strike fast and violent, take out as many of the Purists before they knew he was here, than make them focus on him.

The Purist already thought they had won, which made them vulnerable. Harry conjuried 4 steel spear tips, and disillusioned them.

He maneuvered the weapons silently to hover about a foot behind the four Purists holding the hostages. Harry moved as fast as he dared around the dias, positioning himself just to the side of the students while still facing the Purists. The spears in position, Harry took a final breath.

There was nothing left but the fight. Kill or be killed. He enjoyed the simplicity, all the possible futures reduced a few absolutes.

He'd be better if it didn't also include that same certainty of a bunch of kids dying, but there wasn't anything he could do about that.

With a thought, the speartips shot forward and buried themselves in the back of the Purists heads with synchronous crunches. At the same moment he cast an explosive hex at the 6 remaining Purists, and dropped his disillusionment charm. Stealth would just make them target the students.

Dolohov reacted fast, throwing up a strong shield that blocked most of the hex, but one Purist on the left side wasn't fully covered, and he was sent spinning like a top as the hex detonated in a fiery blast.

"What in Merlin!?" screamed Rose, her eyes landing on Harry fast, shock on her face. Harry ignored her, summoning the formerly captive students from under the corpses and placing them with their friends.

"Door, now!" Harry shouted at them, praying they took his advice. The Purists charged forward through the smoke from Harry's hex, casting wildly at him.

He dodged left as a dark spell shattered the stone next to his head.

'_Argentum lancea' _the bright silver spell shot forward from Harry's wand, spearing one of the Purists chest and sending a spray of blood and bone out his back.

Harry spun to the side as a Killing Curse passed within inches, conjuring a swarm of needles as he did so, directing them to swoop around the Purists.

One of the Purists ducked a red stunning spell, and Harry spared a quick look to see the teenagers had taken his advice and moved into the cover of the entry corridor. Both Neville and Rose were peaking out and casting at the Purists. Rose managed to hit the one who had dodged, putting him out of the fight.

_At least they're out of the way. _Harry reasoned, than turned back to his opponents.

They were spreading out in a semicircle, trying to box him in.

Harry dodged their spells, and shot a grey spell of his own out at the stone at the Purists feet.

The stone bent to his will, and rippled like water for a heartbeat before huge spikes shot out at the Purists.

"FUCK" yelled one of them just before two spears bisected him, suspending him in the air. Another tried to blast the spike heading for him.

While he was distracted, Harry thrust his wand at him '_Uro'_. The spell was a simple one, but still very effective as the Purist burst into flames with an agonized scream, dropping to the ground as his robes melted into his flesh.

Dolohov tried to cancel Harry's animation, but the stone was firmly under Harry's control and would know no other master.

Harry cast another _lancea, _but Dolohov was just fast enough to dodge under the shield-breaker, and cast a blood boiling curse in return. Harry leaned over just enough for it to miss him. He lifted his wand for a return curse-

"AVADA KEDAVRA" a frantic scream tore out, and Harry ducked and rolled on instinct. The Purist thrown by his opening hex was sprinting at him half his robes torn off his chest, and the sickly green curse passed through where Harry had just been standing.

Harry popped back up, and the Purist closed the distance, hurling a sparking curse at him. Harry caught it on the tip of his wand and flicked it towards the ceiling. He sidestepped the Purist, who was going too fast to turn.

He conjured a thin ribbon of purple magic, and with a smooth motion whipped it around, severing the Purists legs off at the knees. The man let out a scream as he toppled forward. Harry didn't make the same mistake twice, and banished the man into the veil.

"AHHHHHHHH-" the scream was abruptly cut off as the man vanished into flapping nothingness. Harry spun to face Dolohov, but found nothing. A door above the benches swung back and forth, showing the man had fled.

Harry doubted he was gone for good. Likely ran off for reinforcements, the bastard.

But he couldn't pursue the man and leave the children to fend for themselves. Harry growled a little, but jogged over to the children. They were all staring at him like he was a monster, and Rose shakily held up her wand at him.

"Do-don't come a-any closer." she said, making the mistake of looking over his shoulder to the Purist stilling hanging from two spikes.

He didn't have time for this. They had to move.

Harry held his hands up in mock surrender "Listen to me, I know none of you know me or trust me, but that Purist that escaped it probably going for back-up, and we have to get out of here."

The group looked at Neville, who looked back with shock. His eyes flicked between Harry and his friends uncertainty.

"Why'd you kill them?" Ron blurted out, only to quail under glares from most of the others, including Rose.

_Careless._

Harry rolled his eyes "Unless you haven't noticed, they were going to kill all of you, and I didn't have time to eliminate them nicely. Oh, that reminds me." Harry turned and pointed his wand at the unconscious Purist, willing the stone to form into restraints over the man, and sealing his wand a few feet away. Normally he'd just kill him, but he needed these kids to not freak out.

This time it was Hermione who was unable to stay quiet "You didn't move your wand, you should have had to recast the spell! Who are you?" "My previous spell was still active. Further manipulation is just a matter of willpower. I'd recommend Bartlebees 5th treatise on transfiguration if your interested. As for who I am, the only thing between you and the Purists." Harry replied, a warm feeling of nostalgia filling his chest. Trust Hermione to focus on magical theory at a time like this.

He forgotten how much he missed them.

Neville looked last, his head swinging between Harry, his injured friends and the bodies of the Purists.

Finally, he bit his lip "Well, I guess we don't really have a choice, do we?" he said, unable to stop his voice from cracking at the thin attempt at humor.

Rose pursed her lips, and looked like she wanted to disagree, but just nodded. The rest seemed to be convinced.

"Good. First things first, can any of you cast a patronus?" Harry asked swiftly, and all of them shook their heads, looking confused. "Ah well." he was sure the image would raise some questions, but he didn't have time to get clever with it.

Harry pointed his wand at the door and whispered "Expecto Patronum" focusing on the image of him and his friends sitting on a hill overlooking the lake one lazy sunday in third year. Prongs immediately sprang forth, eliciting a couple gasps from the kids.

"Hello old friend. I need you to find Albus Dumbledore, and relay this 'Code Black, DOM compromised, Longbottom and friends in danger, send reinforcements all haste', now go." he commanded, and the stag flew straight up through the ceiling to deliver his message.

Rose, Alex and Orion were all giving him suspicious looks, but Harry ignored them. "Alright, here's the plan, we have to get to the Atrium, because that where the Aurors are going to enter from, got it?" Harry asked sharply, and they all nodded.

"Alright, now get up and form a diamond, injured in the middle, Neville in the front, Luna on the left, Hermione on the right and Rose at the end." He commanded, and groaned internally as they took nearly 30 seconds to arrange themselves into the simple formation.

"Rose, keep your head on a swivel, make sure Dolohov isn't trying to ambush us. Rest of you, move fast, but don't run or break formation. I'll be in the front, if anything happens back up to the nearest cover and cast the strongest shields you know, you all got it?"

Nods all around, though Rose looked nervous. _Tough shit. You're the only one who managed to take down a Purist, which makes you the most qualified of the lot. _Harry thought, wanting to say it but biting his tongue. He needed them to hold it together at least until he could get them out of here.

He was somewhat wary to go to the Atrium if, like in his world, the Dark Lord was waiting for them. But by the same token, if he trapped them in the DOM Harry would be up against a wall with a bunch of kids to protect. If there was going to a fight, best to do it in the open.

Harry took his position at the head of the slightly misshapen diamond, and led them out into the circular entry room, trying to keep the pace up.

When they went into the room, the door behind them slammed shut and the kids all slowed. It was Ginny who asked the obvious question "Why isn't it spinning?" she said painfully, clutching her arm to her side/

"Security override." Harry answered curtly, not slowing down as he went over to the exit door. He wasn't technically lying, right?

The group made their way down the hall, than from the stairwell an agonized scream echoed out.

The teens tenses, and Neville drew back a little. Harry steeled himself. His senses detected a harsh buzzing of dark magic that screamed evil and pain, but it was indistinct.

_Odd, so much is in this reality different, and yet the same events play out. I wonder what else is the same? _

Harry motioned to the kids, whispered "Stay back" then crept up the stairs. He would have to trust they could protect themselves and not coming charging into this.

The Atrium echoed with Dolohov's screams, as he lay convulsing on the tiled floor in front of the fountain.

Harry couldn't see the one causing him pain, but he could feel a presence sulking in the shadows. Suddenly, Dolohov stilled, and lay panting on the floor.

"Hmmmm, I don't know you" a strange, pitching voice hissed out over the Atrium. "However, interfering with my plans is most… unwise."

Harry cocked an eyebrow "Oh, I'm so sorry that I stopped your attempted of a bunch of schoolchildren. Perhaps I can make it up to you by finding a litter of kittens for you to strangle." He mocked with false cheer.

The shadows around the edge of the Atrium seemed to stretch out "How dare you mock the Dark Lord of the Blood Purists? I, who has mastered occult powers beyond your meager comprehension, leader of-" "Oh Shut Up!" Harry interrupted acidly, stunning the voice into silence.

"What is it with Dark wizards and egos the size of Dragons? You talk a big talk, but you know what I see? A rat, skulking in the shadows, torturing one of his own followers, and whining about being taken seriously." Harry sniped, hoping to draw the Lord out into open battle.

He didn't necessarily want to kill him this soon, but he wasn't going to pass up a golden opportunity.

"...You will regret those words."

The shadows swirled around, gathering above Dolohov in a large cloud. From within, a figure seemed to glide out.

The Dark Lord was still partially surrounded by the shadows, which seemed to merge with the faded and tattered crimson robes he wore. He towered at least 7 feet tall, but Harry guessed he was floating. His frame was thin, with slender limbs and a small torso. Overall, it was rather intimidating. Well, to normal people that is.

"Nice entrance. You do birthday parties?" he asked blithely, and smirking when the Dark Lords shoulders went taut.

"Who the Hell do you think you are?" the Dark Lord growled, his voice still magically distorted, but the rage coming through loud and clear.

Harry leaned back and gave his best roguish smile. "Oh, me? I'm nobody. But I am still better than you. So watch your tone when speaking to your betters." he added aloofly.

That was the last straw for the Dark Lord, and with a snarl of rage he cast a Cruciatus curse at Harry.

Harry pointed his wand at the ground and summoned forth a wall of tiles to block the curse, than with a thought shattered the tiles into hundreds of razor sharp knives that hurled over the distance.

The Dark Lord waved his wand, sending the swarm off to the side, and in the same motion conjuring a dozen purple orbs that raced forward in a zigzag pattern.

Harry dodged back and forth as the acidic feeling orbs spun around him, and sent a plume of flame at the Dark Lord to distract him.

He banished the orbs into the surrounding pillars and sprinted around, making sure the children were out of the line of fire.

'_Avium Forma' _and a flock of black starlings with metal beaks burst forth from his wand, swirling around the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord was clearly unprepared for the speed of Harry's attacks, and backpedaled towards the fountain, staying on the defense. Dolohov had vanished, but he might pop out at any time.

Pressing his initiative, Harry sent the birds dive bombing, aiming to cross him up. The Dark Lord cast a few banishing charms, but the starlings were relentless.

Harry launched a few potshot explosive hexs at the Lord, and he was forced to conjure a powerful shield to cower behind.

He was in the middle of casting an _Argentum lancea _when he felt a surge of Dark magic from behind the shield.

A second later, the shield exploded and shadows mixed with black flame rushed out. The magic took aspects of different animals as it sunk into the stone, melting it instantly, and destroying all of his attack birds.

It rolled forward, and Harry sensed that this was the darkest of spellcraft. It felt almost like fiendfyre, an yawning hunger threatening to shallow everything, but somehow this more controlled. And therefore more dangerous.

It appeared he had made the cardinal mistake of underestimating his enemy.

This might have undone a lesser killer, but Harry was a Reaper. He was far from defeated.

Unable to counter the spell straight, his only chance was to call out his Soul Aspect/

With spells of this nature, there was no real incantation. It required reaching into one's true self, their soul, and exposing it to the world along with a metric shit-ton of magic.

As the shadow flame creatures loped forward, Harry closed his eyes and lifted into the air. He brought forth the unbreakable, indomitable will at his core, and it came as a blinding corona of green magic.

Light and Dark clashed in the center of the Atrium with a deafening bang, before both were cast backwards. Harry was hurled back nearly into the wall, only just catching himself midair and dropping down to the floor. He cast his eyes up, and saw the Dark Lord kneeling near the opposite wall, shoulders heaving with exertion.

"So, you're a Dark Lord in more than just name." Harry dryly observed, loud enough for the man to hear. His face was still obscured, but Harry was fairly sure he was glaring at him.

A quick look told him that the teenagers were still safe, and they were all crowded around the edge of the stairwell watching with eyes wide as dinner plates.

_I'll admit, that was a better show than what Albus and Tommy boy put on for me._

The Dark Lord stood up shakily, while Harry rose smoothly. He slowly pushed his left leg back, like a runner preparing for a sprint. For a few moments, the only sound was the two mens hurried breathing.

They moved at the same instant.

Harry popped twenty feet to his left, '_Murum Aeris!' _a wall of compressed air blasted towards the Dark Lord ripping tiles up on the way.

The Dark Lord vanished back into his conjuried shadows, swirling around the entire arena. The air wall parted some of it, merrily shattering a pillar on its way.

From the shadows, red magical missiles long as broomsticks shot forward, tracking Harry with blinding speed.

He banished himself backwards towards the wall, the missiles hot on his tail.

Just before striking the wall, Harry translated his thrust onto another vector, and shot along the wall at a slight angle. Two missiles buried themselves in the wall, unable to turn fast enough to track him, but the other three managed the turn.

From the shadows more curse zeroed in on Harry, globs of acid, transfigured spikes and even a couple killing curses. Harry juked and weaved up and down the wall, careful not to lose any speed.

The Dark Lord was getting close to hitting him, but Harry had zeroed in on his location in the illusionary shadows.

He slammed up to the ceiling, the stopped all of his momentum, watching as two of the missles sailed past.

The Dark Lord threw another hex at Harry, but Harry flicked out his wand and caught the last missile, tossing it in front of him.

It collided with the hex they exploded in a shower of sparks.

Harry flew forward at breakneck speed, straight for the Dark Lord. He conjured a short sword in his left hand, and sent a powerful dispelling curse in front of him to clear the shadow.

The Dark Lord started as Harry hurtled towards him. A glittering web of magic sprang up just in time for Harry's spell to bounce off, but Harry skated past and swung his sword at his exposed back.

The Dark Lord let out an undignified yelp of surprise, but managed to dodge out of the way, the blade slicing off a bit of his robe.

Harry pressed forward, cutting curses shooting from his wand and hacking away so close he could smell the Dark Lords breath.

_Is that...Pomegranate? _A small part of Harry's mind wondered as he cast viciously fast, driving the Dark Lord back step by step.

His opponent ducked beneath a sword swing, than thrust his wand out, and black flame rolled out, forcing Harry to retreat.

The Dark Lord hid behind the flame, but Harry could sense a magical buildup. He pulled back, keeping the sword and wand up and ready.

Just as the black fire faded, the Dark Lord appeared on the other side, and hovering over his head was sphere of concentrated dark magic, and with a enraged yell he cast it at Harry.

_Dauða Keila. Icelandic __shaped spell, will expand in under three microseconds in a cone outwards to a length of 20 feet. _Harry noted. Voldemort had cast it once, and it had been the spell that killed Mad-Eye.

Harry dropped the sword and swirled his wand in a tight circle, spinning out golden bands of magic that clamped down around the sphere, stopping its expansion. Harry strained, sweat dripping down his brow as he held.

The sphere began to wobble, needing to release the massive amount of energy held within. The Dark Lord swore loudly, raising his wand to destroy Harry's containment spell.

He was too slow.

The sphere crumpled inward, than ballooning outward with a massive concussive blast.

He just had time to throw up a shield before the shockwave slammed him back, cracking against the stone floor.

Harry lay there for a moment, his ears ringing and pain shooting up his back. Harry grit his teeth, and tried to blink out the dust in his eyes.

_That fucking hurt. _He thought, content to keep laying there until a shot of adrenaline surged through his chest.

The Dark Lord might still be alive.

Harry rolled over, and unsteadily got to his feet, sweeping his wand around.

Dust filled the air, and Harry had trouble seeing even a few feet in front of him. With a wave, he parted the air slightly, revealing the extent of the damage.

In the center of the Atrium, a crater 10 feet wide and at least 5 feet deep dominated. The fountain had been caught in part of the blast, the golden statues of the races broken and tossed aside, and water continuing to pour out of the pipes draining into the crater

A few stray tiles dropped near Harry, and he belatedly healed his destroyed eardrums. Sound popped in, and Harry zeroed in on a pained groan from across the destroyed Atrium.

Harry ignored the pain and strain on his core, and dropped into a ready stance, preparing to skirt around the edge of the chamber to sneak up on the Dark Lord.

But the Lord was not fully incapacitated. He stood up unsteadily, favoring his right leg, but his wand was up. His shadows seemed weak and small, but they were gradually spreading back out.

The two stood about thirty feet apart, each waiting for the other to attack. Harry chuckled slightly.

"Still with me?"

The Dark Lord started at him, but still drew up to his full height "I can do this all night." he boasted weakly, the enchantment muddling his voice cracking oddly.

Given the way he was swaying he had to be lying. Harry was in rough shape too, but he could still fight. Still, it would be better to withdraw for the moment, just in case the Dark Lord had anymore tricks up his sleeve.

Just then, Harry felt a sledgehammer of magical power hit the wards, so powerful it shook the room.

"Took them long enough." Harry muttered. The Dark Lord tensed up and took a step back. He knew Dumbledore was probably on the other side, and taking on Harry was daunting enough.

Harry shook his head "Seems we'll have to finish this up another time. Unless you don't mind having some other dance partners?" he asked with what he hoped was a charming grin.

The Dark Lord took another step back "Mark my words stranger, you will rue the day you crossed me. I shall make you suffer in ways you cannot even imagine!" He roared, finding his steel again.

The threat amused Harry even further. He waved his wrist at the man dismissively "Yeah, sure thing buddy. Sounds fun."

The Dark Lord tensed up again, and his wand twitched little, but he was able to reign in his temper and vanish into his shadows, and Harry felt his magical signature vanish a second later.

With the threat gone, the Atrium shook again. The wards were close to breaking.

Interesting that he had gotten out so easily. Harry would have to plan for that in future engagements.

Harry bent over painfully and grabbed a chunk of shattered stone, and tapped it with his wand to turn it into a simple portkey.

He peeked over his shoulder and saw the teens were all clustered around the stairwell entrance, looking no worse than the start of the fight. He noticed Neville was still clutching the Prophecy, and considered if he should take it.

_No. Never trusted divination anyway, and besides I need the Ministry and Dumbledore at least apathetic towards me. _

Harry walked heavily up towards them, and smiled softly. Rose was again the only one to raise her wand, the rest just looked at him in shock. Keeping his wand down, Harry stopped a good distance away.

"Who _are_ you?" Hermione repeated her previous question.

"Me? I suppose I'm just a soldier who outlived his War. Now I fight the Purists. I don't want anything beyond seeing them defeated. And I am not your enemy." Harry said smoothly, knowing he was also speaking to the adults who would watch these memories later.

The room shook again, and the fireplaces in the remaining pillars sparked violently.

Harry smirked at the teens lightly "Well, that's my cue to leave, otherwise they might bill me for this." he joked.

"But, a couple free pieces of advice. First, always confirm your intelligence before you act on it, and second if you're going to fight for real, you have to be willing to kill." He said seriously. He hoped he could finish this fight without them entering the fray, but he knew that it might come to them. And they had to ready.

With a thunderous roar, the wards finally collapsed, the fireplaces came back to life.

Staccato pops of apparitions filled the hall, and Harry felt Albus enter on the far side.

"Stay out of trouble." he told the teens, just as multiple red robed yelled "Aurors, freeze!" at him.

A half dozen stunning spells shot at him. Harry waved at the teens, and activated the portkey.

**Authors Note:**

**First major battle, done! Hope you all liked it, and as always reviews are welcome. **

**Next chapter, all the major players try to make sense of what just happened.**


	7. A Change in the Wind

**Authors Note:**

**Alright, this chapter was hard to write. Please keep in mind that this POV is rather biased in certain areas. Also, other reactions are coming soon. **

**Small edit to address a plothole.**

James rolled over, trying and failing to get to sleep. His knee was aching, which was absurd seeing as how he'd been sitting at his desk the whole damn day. Ah well, he could turn up a bit later. Only real perk of his position in his opinion.

Names of Purists swirled through his head, and leads crowded around his head. A year ago he had taken the promotion to Senior Auror on the urging of his wife, following having his knee blown out with a Dark Hex during a gangland raid. It had been a sobering reminder that he wasn't 22 anymore, and all the other wounds he'd taken over the years were adding up. Lily supported him, but had been very firm that she wanted him to see his children graduate, and not be crippled like some of the other Aurors.

She worked as a mediwitch at St. Mungos, and had risen up the ranks despite prejudice against Muggleborns. She was one of their leading trauma specialists, though she had joked she learned the skill just to protect James from his own stupidity.

James shifted again, trying not to disturb his wife, and pushed his thoughts from work.

The school year year was nearly over, and soon his children would come home. He missed the twins a great deal. The house was too quiet without them. And getting to see them everyday put his mind at ease. But who could blame him after…

He shook his head, trying not to open up that old wound again. Rose and Alex were both gifts. He was sure he would have fallen apart if not for the two of them, not to mention Orion. Even from the beginning the three had practically been attached at the hip, with Orion acting as the protective big brother. James considered him just as much one of his children as the twins.

They were all one big family, and when Remus was around he was just another Uncle.

He wished Peter was here too… blimey, his mind just kept going to dark places tonight.

It would be good to have them all around again. They were growing up so fast, and he was feeling like he was missing out on too much. They already felt like they had the weight of the world on their shoulders and were ignoring the joys of youth. He knew he had, when the Marauders turned away from their childish pranks towards the looming battles in their final few years at school.

He didn't want that for his kids. They deserved to transition slowly into adults, not be thrust into it before they were ready.

James thought about what they might do. Perhaps he could talk to Molly and Arthur, the Grangers, and try to reason with Lady Longbottom to have a nice picnic for the whole bunch. Maybe that Lovegood girl could come along, or Bone's niece. Moony would be back right around the height of summer, so he could come too. A nice, relaxing day out with all their friends and family.

Okay, relaxing was probably asking too much with the all the surviving marauders and Fred and George in attendance. But it wouldn't be boring.

James grinned. Yes, that was a good plan. He'd have to take precautions and maybe grab some other Aurors or teachers for security, but-

A loud clatter snapped him from his thoughts, and he snatched on the table on instinct. His hand closed on his Auror badge as it rattled around. He hurriedly turned the light on while struggling out of the sheets. The bed shifted as Lily sat up.

James wasted no time in flipping the golden badge over and felt his stomach drop when he saw the patch on the back was colored black.

They were emergency communication devices, and sent out alerts via a small colored section on the back. White was all clear, blue was non-combat emergency, red was combat emergency, purple was when they couldn't determine which was which, and black was the highest level of alert, reserved for the worst case scenario.

The last code Black had been the mass breakout from Azkaban.

James tossed the badge on the bed where Lily could see it and jumped out of bed, going for his dragonhide armor.

"Oh God." Lily gasped, and leapt out of bed as well.

"I'll head to St. Mungos and prep the emergency wing. Make sure you send any casualties there, okay?" Lily said as she rushed to grab her medical robes.

James grunted his answer as he finished pulling on his armor, and then the scarlet robes over them.

Outside a whoosh of flame and green light signaled the a messenger.

"PRONGS!" Sirius's voice rang out panickedly.

James rushed into the sitting room and saw his best friends face made of green flame looking at him.

"What's the situation?" James barked, trying not to let the panic show. Sirius looked fearful, and his eyes darted around.

"It's the Ministry, it's been compromised. The lockdown wards are in place, security team is not responding, Dumbledore's trying to break in. We're waiting in the basement of the Whitehall building." He said in a single breath, and James frowned.

Breaking into the Ministry was brazen, and the idea of any of the Aurors stationed there being trapped definitely classified it as an emergency, but why was Sirius losing his composure? Lily came up next to him, her smock crooked, and seemed equally confused.

Before either Potter could ask, Sirius threw a bludger.

"The kids are inside."

"Kids?! Wha-" "Our Kids! Orion, Rose, Alex! Minerva just checked, their tracking charms are all disabled, and they're not at Hogwarts! Dumbledore got a message they are in danger!" Sirius yelled angrily, and James mind froze in disbelief.

No no no no no, this couldn't be happening, not again, not to his babies. Raw panic filled him, and all the air was trapped in his chest.

Lily didn't have the same problem. She charged forward towards the fireplace.

"MOVE" she ordered Sirius, and didn't wait for him to withdraw his head before she grabbed a bunch of floo powder and spun away.

James shook himself. His children needed him, he had to pull it together! He scrambled forward and flooed to the staging area.

The normally quiet basement of the Whitehall building was a hive of activity. At least two dozen Aurors were milling around aimlessly. James cast an eye around for Scrimgeour or Bones, but found he was the highest ranking DMLE member present.

In the center of the chaos, Dumbledore was casting complex spells on the ground with a couple curse-breakers, clearly trying to unseal the Ministry.

James shot red sparks out of his wand and shouted "AURORS GROUP UP!" making all the red robed peacekeepers snap to attention. They clustered close around James, and more were arriving from the floo or apparition.

"Listen up, we have an unknown enemy force inside the Ministry, and some underage noncombatants. Once the wards are down, we are going to be dropping into the Atrium in squads. Pick your spells, and nothing lethal." James ordered harshly.

"Sir, the underaged cilvian, is it the Boy-Who-Lived?" One of the junior Aurors asked, eyes wide. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tonks staring at him.

"Yes, at least with the evidence we currently have, along with several of his friends." James said through gritted teeth. He really didn't need celebrity worship right now.

Before any more questions could be raised, a muffled noise shook the floor. James's eyes went wide.

The Ministry was magically hardened against attack, and for an explosion to be felt this far up meant it was massive. The Headmaster's voice echoed out.

"We have no time! We must break the wards!" He thundered, looking more furious than James had ever seen him, and all the Aurors backed up against the wall. Dumbledore and the curse breakers spread out into a rough circle, and point their wands at the ground.

A bright beam of light formed in the center, and burrowed down into the stone with a piercing noise.

The floor quaked beneath them, and James focused on getting the Aurors into their squads. "Apparate near the walls, behind the pillars for cover, stick with your team leader!" he ordered, watching as the beam of light grew, and the quakes increased.

James spied Lily standing near Sirius's squad. She was going in with the first wave, and luckily all the Aurors were too intimidated by her expression to question it.

James stood there for a moment, just watching Dumbledore work and feeling the seconds tick by. Each moment, his kids were down there alone, in danger, and it felt like a knife was being driven into his heart.

An eternity elapsed, and possibilities about all the terrible things that could be happening down below raced through his mind. His children were talented for their age, but they were still school children for Merlin's sake. They weren't trained to handle truly dangerous situations.

The beam of Light formed again, shooting down with titanic effort and a reverting boom that rattled his teeth. "Now!" Dumbledore yelled, and James appirated down before he could think.

He landed in the Atrium in a crouch with his team close behind him, and he coughed from the dust in the air, and glanced around in shock.

The room was destroyed near totally. The walls were blasted and ripped up, at least half of the pillars were missing and the rest were all somewhat melted.

In the center of the Atrium, the fountain destroyed and water bubbled up, falling into a huge crater. The rest of the tiled floor was warped and shattered in several places.

Through the dust James spotted a group of figures not in Auror robes clustered near the staircase to the DOM.

One stood apart, close to six feet tall in fine robes. The rest were shorter, and James instantly recognized the profile of his daughter pointing her wand at the man. He cast a stunning spell on instinct at the figure, along with a few others.

The man said something, than he swirled away with a portkey. The spells sailed through empty air. Dumbledore marched forward towards the teens, avoiding the crater. "Follow him!" James ordered the closest team, led by Kingsley. They popped away in pursuit.

James sprinted up, and his heart clenched seeing the group of children looking bloody and shaken. Rose was still staring at the place the man had been, looking confused and scared. Her wand dropped to her side when she saw James burst in front of her.

Dumbledore cast a quick spell on the group, likely to make sure they weren't polyjuiced or glamored. The Headmaster relaxed a little, and nodded at James.

"Dad!" Rose said, her eyes wide, and James instantly wrapped his arms around her. Lily came up and began casting diagnostic charms on the group. She started with Orion, who was leaning heavily on Alex, but he shooed her away.

"I'm fine, the others need you first." the young man said quietly, as though breathing hurt. Lily ignored his advice and cast more charms. Rose was breathing hard, and had a death grip on James. "What happened?" James asked urgently, looking around a the destruction.

Rose took a few breaths, "He, he fought the Dark Lord, there was a massive explosion and shadows and he killed the Purists down below and and" she gulped in a breath. "The Purists, they are in the room with the veil, he killed them, he killed them." She said fast, and was holding onto James painfully tight.

"That's enough, she's having a panic attack." Lily ordered sharply, casting a series of broad healing spells. She cast a calming charm on her daughter, and it must have been a powerful one because she went limp in his arms. James turned to see that Dawlish was standing by "Take your team down to secure the DOM."

Dumbledore looked over at Neville, and James saw he was clutching an unfamiliar glowing orb. Whatever it was, Dumbledore recognized it, and understanding passed over his face.

"Ah. I see." Neville looked at the headmaster, than down to his own hand. Dumbledore reached out a hand.

"If I may, my boy?" he asked kindly, but Neville drew back slightly and held the orb protectively.

"You knew." the boy said, almost accusing. James glared at the young man, even in his current state it was rude to speak to the Headmaster like that.

But Dumbledore just sighed triedly "Yes, I am afraid I did. However, you and your friends require medical attention, and we should have this conversation without an audience. I give you my word that I will explain everything, soon."

Neville hesitated, looking at the Headmaster, locking eyes with the man. Finally, Neville handed the orb over.

The Headmaster bowed his head slightly "Thank you Neville. Now, unless Lily has any complaints, I think it would be best if you went to Hogwarts for treatment." Lily shook her head, and Dumbledore smoothly pulled out a small golden button, a portkey to get them back to the school, back to safety.

"Most of the wounds are superficial, but Ginny and Orion shouldn't be portkeyed." Lily said briskly. Sirius had split from his team by this point to come over and instantly grabbed his son.

"I'll take him."

Lily nodded, and grabbed Ginny while the rest of the teens took hold of the portkey.

James was getting ready to follow them, when Albus looked over. "Best if you stay James, at least until someone else arrives to take charge." he said softly, and James winced.

He cast a quick look at Lily and Sirius, and both gave him a nod. His kids were on their way to safety, two of the people he trusted most in the world with them. Minerva was at the school, and so was Fillius. Not to mention Snape and Bellatrix, and as much as he personally disliked them, he knew they would protect the children.

"Be safe, I'll be there as soon as I can." he croaked out, and passed Rose back over to her friends.

There was the crack of several apparitions, and James looked back to see Kingsley had returned.

The team looked like they had just run a marathon, and he noticed they had returned alone. Kingsley leaned up against the wall. "We lost him somewhere over Dover."

One of the junior Aurors, Falker, laughed hollowly "Mad bastard jumped five times, then decided he was going to pop up half a mile up in the air!"

James sighed, and looked back to see his family had gone. Albus was looking around the destroyed Atrium.

"With your permission James, I would like to examine this area. If the Dark Lord was here, it could be a valuable time to learn more about him. And this Stranger." the venerable wizard said, most likely just asking to be polite.

As if James would tell him not to interfere. "Of course Headmaster."

Albus nodded, though his attention was fixed on a silver shape glinting out from the rubble. He brushed the debis aside revealing a short sword.

"Interesting." Dumbledore murmured.

James shook his head and went over to the other Aurors apparating in, trying to keep the scene contained. He was sure Croaker would have a fit upon learning that his department had been compromised, and Crouch would be apoplectic over this whole incident.

He was waylaid when Tonks came rushing up."I saw the kids, are they all right?" she asked hurriedly, her hair flashing through colors so fast James couldn't follow. She was very fond of them, having been around Orion since he was born.

"They're fine, and back at Hogwarts. None of the wounds were too serious." he reassured her, than realized she was supposed to be with Dawlish.

"What's the situation in the DOM?" he figured she had to be back up here to give a report. Rose had mentioned dead Purists in the Death Chamber.

Tonks winced a little "It's not pretty sir. The entrance hall defenses have been breached, general destruction in most of the rooms, 6 dead Purists, and one stunned. And, uh, a couple severed legs. But we can't get the unconscious one out from under some transfigured restraints."

More questions were piling up, and James could feel a headache building. It would take awhile to piece together exactly what happened tonight, and he was not looking forward to the paperwork.

**oooOOOooo**

An hour and a half later, after Director Bones finally arrived to take charge of the situation, James had learned frustratingly little. They had found all 15 security personal, murdered and stashed away in the security booth.

It had taken Dumbledore to undo the Strangers transfiguration and access the only surviving Purist, who turned out to be Walden Macnair, an Azkaban escapee and top Purist. The dead ones were still in the process of being identified when James had left, but given the importance of the mission, he guessed they were top echelon.

Though not as powerful as the stranger. It was chilling, seeing so many slaughtered so casually.

James had killed six wizards over the years, and he remembered every single one of them. Alastor had told him and Sirius "_Killing is the absolute last resort. We are peacekeepers, not soldiers, and we do not claim lives lightly or often." _

The stranger clearly didn't subscribe to the same ethos. From the position of the bodies, he had killed 4 of them with surprise conjuried daggers to the back of the skull. Killing had been his first reaction.

Croaker had sworn up and down that the stranger wasn't one of his, and privately James believed him. Unspeakables were researchers, not fighters. And even if they did, such a powerful fighter wouldn't be kept on the sidelines guarding the DOM.

So, the man was a free agent. But for anything beyond that assumption, James would need more evidence. Luckily, apparently his kids had been eyewitnesses to some of the events.

And that was another mystery, why the hell had they snuck out of Hogwarts to the DOM?

It certainly had something to do with the prophecy Neville had grabbed. The thought was like a lead weight on his chest.

It was an open secret his son had been murdered because of some supposed prophecy.

James flooed into the Headmasters office, and found it was packed. Lily and Sirius were seated near the desk, as was Minerva. Behind them was Molly and Arthur Weasley. James didn't always enjoy Molly's gossiping or her extreme moral simplicity, but she and her husband were good people and strong supporters of the light.

Diggle and Doge were both standing near the back, quietly talking, and James noticed Hestia in the corner.

It was a barebones meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

Dumbledore had founded the group back in the lates 70s to battle the growing Purist threat. James and his friends had joined following graduation, and had fought in many 'illegal' battles. Now, they were a group of likeminded people who vowed to stand against the Darkness till the bitter end.

Lily motioned to a chair next to her.

"How are they?" James asked as he squeezed himself in.

"Nothing too serious, all things considered. Orion had three broken ribs and some contusions on his back, Ginny took a hex to the arm but we managed to heal it, and Alex had a stab wound to his leg. Those were the only major ones." Lily explained quickly "What about at the Ministry?"

Everyone present focused on James "The entire security detail was murdered."

Sirius swore, and Molly covered her mouth in horror. Diggle growled a little.

Before he could keep going, the fireplace lit up again, and a figure emerged. Remus Lupin looked near frantic as he looked around "I heard-" he started, but Sirius interrupted "All the kids are okay Moony." he said quickly to calm his friend, and the werewolf nearly folded into himself in relief.

"What happened?" he asked, taking a seat.

"That is what we are all here to learn Lupin." snarked a slimey voice that instantly made James snarl.

Snivellus swept into the office like a huge, greasy bat, and glared at James. He returned the favor.

Lily chose to ignore the tension and instead smile at her old friend.

"Sev, nice to see you."

He gave her a slight smile, and James hackles rose. He could say nothing without Lily chewing him out later for being 'jealous'.

Remus sighed "No need to be short with me Snape. I was out of the country, so my information is somewhat limited." he said tiredly. Snape ignored him.

"My apologies for my lateness, but I had to gather some potions for the wounded students, and prevent Bellatrix from storming in on this meeting." He said smoothy, and James shuddered at the thought of Slytherin attending.

He had protested vociferously at the very idea of that woman teaching his children, not to mention working with the DMLE in any capacity. He couldn't deny she was a fine duelist, but that was just one part of the skill set for his job! Procedures, investigative techniques, not to mention staying within the law, all things she held in contempt.

But Lord fucking Slytherin didn't care about that, didn't care that the Aurors and teachers were more than capable of safeguarding her precious little baby. So he was stuck with her, like a tumor on his otherwise upstanding record. And she could do no wrong in the eyes of his superiors, no she 'cut through the bureaucratic red tape' ignoring the fact that those rules were in place for good reason.

If she had been in the department in an official position James would have drummed her out for insubordination years ago.

And then there was her teaching ability, or rather lack thereof. She played favorites almost as much as Snivellus, and even besides she focused all her time on dueling, just because that was all she was interested in.

Honestly, it was a crime she was allowed to teach, and it wasn't helping that Rose had taken to her overly brutal style. At least the two hated each other. He didn't know what he do if that unhinged bitch decided to take his daughter under her wing.

Well, he did know. Beauxbatons would be getting a new student.

James was shaken from his thoughts when the Headmaster swept in from the main door. It still amazed him how little sound he made when moving. He could even sneak up on him in animagus form.

Dumbledore had left earlier without a word to James, but now he could see why.

He was carrying a vial of silvery memories. Dumbledore smiled at all of them.

"I hope you don't mind me taking the liberty of collecting memories of the incident from young Miss Potter." he said kindly. "Will you be handing them over to the Ministry?" Sirius asked cautiously.

All of the teenagers had something of a celebrity status, but it was doubtless they had broken the law tonight, and James didn't want anyone with a political axe to grind taking advantage of it.

Dumbledore gave them a calm look "That will depend on exactly what we see, and of course I will leave the final decision on how much we disclose to the parents. If necessary, I can use my influence to ensure their safety. And all those present will of course maintain confidence."

All the parents relaxed minutely. "Now, I shall prepare the pensive for so many viewers. And we are waiting for one more, but I trust no one will dispute his expertise." the Headmaster said cryptically, vanishing into the private part of his office before they could ask any questions.

Minerva huffed, muttering something about being overly dramatic. They sat quietly, waiting to learn who exactly he had called, and all too tired to strike up conversation.

After a moment, the fireplace lit up one last time, and a familiar stocky man stepped out, heavy on his wooden peg leg.

James and Sirius stood up on instinct. It was a sign of their respect to the man who had turned them from raw recruits into actual Aurors.

Alastor Moody glared around at the assembled group, but James knew that was his default state. He had retired recently, but still taught some of the recruits and Order members. He was still available for advice whenever James needed him.

The refrain of 'Constant Vigilance' was ingrained into his mind, and he looked into the dark, shifting eyes of the man.

"Oh sit down Potter. Even if I was still an Auror, you'd outrank me." he growled. James smiled. He had missed the old goat.

Dumbledore re-entered the room "So good of you to come Alastor. Please have a seat."

He placed the pensive on the desk, and waved his wand around in a complex pattern. The mist, normally contained within the pensive, crept up like a large snake. All the Order members sat still and let the Headmaster guide the mist to gently brush their faces, sending them down into memory. It was the only way for a large number to view the same memory.

James shuddered as he was pulled forward through the cold, landing hard in the evening light.

They were on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and the group of teenagers were running out on the field. Luna was carrying a bucket of...something.

Hermione was rushing after the group looking unsure. "Neville, are you sure about this? I mean, your visions could be misleading-" Suddenly Rose spun on the bushy haired witch. "We don't have time for this! He saw my dad and uncle Sirius being tortured, and all of his visions have been right so far!" she yelled, and James felt the blood drain from his face.

That was how they were lured out of Hogwarts, using them as bait! Over the last few years Neville had had several visions of Blood Purist activities. They were typically accurate, and had saved Arthur Weasley just a few months ago.

Hermione was undeterred "Well, I still think we should tell a teacher rather than just run off!" Orion turned around and glared at her "Who? Most of the teachers are gone, it's just Snape and Slytherin! You think they would lift a finger to save our dads?" He yelled, throwing up his hands.

Snape drew back, affronted by their lack of faith. Minerva winced "We were having a small get-together in London, to try and relax after exam week." She explained sheepishly.

This whole set-up stank of a trap to James, though he did have the benefit of knowing how this ended.

Hermione wilted at Orion's outburst. Meanwhile, Luna laid out the bucket, and judging from how it sloshed around, it was blood. From the forest, they came. Thestrals. James was shocked Rose could see them, she hadn't mentioned it before. Or maybe he could see them even in a memory?

The adults watched as the teens clambered atop the creatures and flew off towards the Ministry. They watched as the kids entered the ministry, getting fucking visitor badges as though what they were doing was normal.

James watched them break into the DOM, and did feel a little embarrassed as none of his children ever stopped and thought about what the hell they were doing. He was touched they put themselves in danger to save him and Sirius, but didn't they understand that they would never want them too?

Than, in the Hall of Prophecy, Neville discovered a small orb with Trelawny's image and his name beneath. That was when the Purists attacked. James winced as he watched the teens being outclassed by the Dark wizards, and he watched as Orion was banished straight into a wall with a cracking noise that stilled his heart.

The group was split up during the chase, and they were forced into the Death Chamber. All of them were horrified to see the Purists taking half the group hostage, and James was sweating bullets seeing a wand pressed to his sons neck.

Only knowing they were all safe in the castle prevented a full on panic attack.

Just when all hope was lost, the stranger burst in with a flurry of violence. He killed most of the Purists like they were nothing, and showed no remorse or hesitation. It was chilling.

Still, he seemed dedicated to keeping the teens alive, and he put them into a fairly standard diamond Auror formation.

"Why did he put Rose at the back!? If there's so much risk, why didn't he go there himself?" Remus protested. Moody shook his head sharply. "He's showing them he trusts them, by putting his back to them. Not that it would have mattered if he really wanted them dead." he said with a hint of reproach.

James had winced with how open the teens where, with only Rose bothering to keep her wand up at the Stranger.

Then came the main event, the showdown in the Atrium. James knew it would be a titanic battle based on the aftermath, but actually watching it made his jaw drop.

The Dark Lord cast spells James had never even heard of, and his conjured shadows gave him a great deal of flexibility. But it was the stranger who astonished him. The man was insane, and his speed made figuring out exactly what happened difficult. He was a blur, casting and dodging faster than James could track.

Still, the two combatants seemed close to equally matched, and it ended in a draw. Then came his harsh advice to the teens.

James blood boiled. How dare this Stranger tell his kids what they needed to do! _Like hell! They aren't going to be involved in this fight, I'll kill every Purist myself before it comes to that! _

James shook his head as he landed back in the office. Dumbledore looked grave, and everyone present was shocked by what they had seen. The Headmaster sat down heavily.

"In my life, I have seen that kind of power thankfully only a twice. Both men are Archmages: a Lord of Dark, and a Lord of Light to match him." he said distantly.

"From the evidence at Azkaban Dark Lord was an archmage, but this is direct proof. More concerning is this other man. There are only a handful of magicals in the world with this kind of power, and the ability to summon a soul aspect. And each has a distinct dueling style. He matches none of them."

"The Dark Lord's style was largely in line with the evidence from Azkaban. Use of Dark magic favoring acid. The shaped spell he used was Icelandic, but it's popular on the continent, so that doesn't help us as much. But those shadows, I've never seen anything like them." Moody commented.

The Headmaster stroked his beard in thought "They are a high level illusion if I'm not mistaken, though his use of them as a means of transport is interesting. That could be a way of tracking him."

Ever since the Dark Lord had appeared, they had made concentrated effort to figure out who he was. They suspected he lived abroad, so Remus had spent nearly a year hunting around, alone. James hated the thought of one his best friends out there alone, but Remus was perhaps the only one of them who could handle the risk, and was willing to do it.

However, any time they got close to someone who might know something, they ended up mysteriously disappearing.

"I shall confide in you my friends, I am not nearly as concerned about the Dark Lord as I am about the Stranger. He is completely unknown, and I doubt his motivations are strictly pure."

Minerva started off "Notice his wording in the final exchange, 'a soldier who outlived his war', not a soldier who won his war and is looking for another one, but just outlived it. I'm not familiar with any magical conflicts in the past few decades that were that intense to produce a soldier like this. Whatever it was, it's clear he's set his sights on the Purists next."

"I almost feel sorry for them." Diggle snorted, and they had a couple of chuckles until they were silenced by a sharp look from the Headmaster. "Just because he is the enemy of the Purists does not mean he is on our side. Such ruthless violence will be highly destabilizing, and even if he does destroy the Purists, than what? He may very well decide he wants power. History is full of despots who never cast a single dark spell. And given his apparent power, he may succeed if we do not stand against him.

He is the most dangerous type of man, for he fights without regard for his own life."

Molly cocked an eyebrow at her mentor "I'm not sure about that Albus. He may have been reckless, but that could just mean he is arrogant."

"Perhaps, but surely you noticed he only used a shield at the very end when he had no other option? When he flew around the hall, he placed himself in great danger in order to locate the Dark Lord, and charged in recklessly."

"So, if we're talking about his unique style, than we can add in those swarms he used. He conjured needles to harass the Purists, and that flock of birds during the duel." Remus added.

"All of his conjurations had some form of metal, and he seemed capable with the sword he created." Snape said, and James was forced to admit he was right.

"And that silver spear spell, the shield piercer, he had a fondness for that." Arthur noted.

"The flying as well. I'd bet he played quidditch in the past to be so comfortable hurling around at those speeds. Might be a good way to find out more about him." Sirius pondered, leaning back dangerously in his chair.

Minerva pursed her lips "His suggestion of Bartlebees work is interesting. The man's work is not well known and most of it deals with the Atlantean theory of magic, which has never been widespread." she explained. Sirius looked confused, and James sympathized.

"Let's pretend for a moment I don't know what that means, just for the sake of it?" Sirius asked, and Minerva gave him a good natured glare. Dumbledore answered "Atlantean theory makes no distinction between magic and thought. In their eyes, all magic is just extending one's mind outside the limits of the body. It's not exactly incorrect, but we prefer the Roman theorem which differentiates the two. It's easier to understand, but limiting on the upper edge of ability."

James frowned "Does this help us at all?" he asked, not wanting to sit through a lecture on magical theory. "It shows that he has been trained as an archmage. Additionally, it is exactly what I would recommend to a student like Miss Granger." Dumbledore noted, stroking his beard.

Molly tentatively bit her lip. She usually remained quiet in these sorts of conversations "What has been bothering me, is how he knew all their names? Neville, sure, but the others aren't nearly as famous." she pointed out, even as most of the others shook their heads. "They are less famous, sure, but if one is studying the boy-who-lived, they'll come up eventually." said Doge.

Lily nodded too "And you remember that awful Skeeter, when she claimed that all of them were a part of an Aphrodite cult, and she published those doctored photos of them all kissing?" she was unable to keep the hate out of her voice, and James winced at the reminder. They had been forced to sue Skeeter to get her to stop.

Molly nodded, and sank back into her chair, and James said "Lets keep building a picture of the strangers style, which we can hopefully use to track down who he was before coming here, and perhaps any other incidents he had been involved in. Because just from this description, no open cases came to mind."

Moody leaned forward, staring off into space "He was wearing a glamour ring. It was far too stable, but I still spotted the edges shifting around his eyes. If I had to guess, he's lost weight since he had them made, the edges didn't quite match his frame." He said.

James just nodded. He hadn't seen it, but his old mentor was rarely wrong. He was a perceptive one.

"Still, it might be a good idea for the Ministry to put that face out there. He might have used it before, could give us some leads on him." Doge pointed out.

"I was interested by the dichotomy he displayed." James said. "With the children he was clipped and mostly professional, but when facing the Dark Lord he mocked him. Sarcasm was another weapon he used."

Sirius leaned back, clearly thinking "Well, he's not wrong about Dark wizards and their egos. He wanted to bait him into attacking, and he clearly believed he could win."

Remus didn't look convinced "Well, he may have had a skewed view of what is possible. I mean, he thought a group of teenagers might be able to perform a Patronus charm. That's a post NEWT level spell, for Merlin's sake."

"Not necessarily Mr. Lupin." one of the portraits of previous Headmasters commented. They were all bound to aid the current Headmaster, but mostly remained quiet during Order meetings. In this case James didn't recognize the man.

"If I may Albus?" the portrait asked perfunctory, and the current Headmaster rolled his hand "Of course Dilys. I seem to recall you were an expert on the Patronus charm."

The portrait snarled slightly "Not by choice. Following the election of a new minister, Dementors were posted as guards around the grounds for a year. It was an attempt to force me to comply with his new policy, and cede the charter formally to the Ministry." He explained, rage burning in his eyes.

James sympathized. Dementors were some of the most dangerous creatures in the world, and leaving them around children was nearly unthinkable.

"He was unsuccessful, naturally, but during the course of the year we trained almost every prefect to cast a corporeal patronus. Many of the younger students could produce a mist, the youngest one was just 12." Dilys spoke with obvious pride.

"The spell is difficult, but not impossible, especially for a group of gifted students."

Hestia spoke up "Interesting. However, he specifically used it as a long range communicator, and I've never heard of that." she asked, and Dilys raised his eyebrows.

"Neither have I. Though I suppose it could be done, if one has a great deal of power to spend, and had a strong enough connection with his Patronus, it would be able to seek someone out with a specific message." He mused.

"However, it would require a strong connection with the recipient, a long bond. Who was the one he sent the message?"

"He sent it to me. Are you saying I know him?" Albus asked, stroking his beard "Most likely. Though it could have been years ago when he was a student for all we know." Dilys answered noncommittally.

"Thank you for your insight old friend." Albus said, and the portrait nodded sagely.

"More evidence to support that comes from what he left behind." the Headmaster declared, summoning a sword and spear tip on his desk. "Do these look familiar to you?" he asked, and James squinted down at them. Come to think of it, he did recognize them… but from where?

His wife gave an exclamation that she had always made in class when she figured out the answer. "They're the same sort of weapons the suits of armor in the school use! The sword is shrunk a bit, but otherwise it's a perfect replica. So are the spear tips."

Dumbledore nodded sagely "Indeed. And both were conjuried with very little thinking time, meaning he defaulted to what was familiar and comfortable."

Something about this theory didn't add up to James "So, what are we thinking? That he spent his youth in Britain, than moved abroad and fought some unspecific war? Why return now? There's been no sign of him before so we have to assume he'd only just come back." "Maybe he was injured. Or he could be older than he presents as. I mean, this kind of power only comes from experience. And besides, who's to say that he did fight in an officially recognized war. Perhaps it was a personal conflict he defined as a war." Diggle argued.

Moody grunted "His style ain't the type you get old with."

"Excellent points have been raised by all. However, I do not believe we have enough information to make any significant assumptions. But it's late, and we have other matters to attend to." Dumbledore broke in before it could develop into an argument.

"I think we should share the memory with the Ministry. It'll placate the Minister, and the department has been itching to see the Dark Lord in action." James said as confidently as he could.

Snape glared at him like he was some sort of moron "Oh naturally. But have you considered what they will do with the other information? Lest you forget the children did break the law." he sniped.

"Well, unlike you I actually work with the Minister, so trust me when I say that he won't blame the kids. There are 15 dead Aurors, and he will see that Neville was lured into it. If he attacks them after that he'll just look heartless and he knows it."

Snape scoffed dismissively "Oh yes. Crouch is world famous for his cuddly persona." the greasy git mocked.

As usual, Lily broke up the argument before it could escalate "That is enough you two. Severus raises a good point, although he could have phrased it more politely." She glared at Snape, before turning her eyes on James "and assigning blame isn't going to help us."

Both men reluctantly backed down, though James knew he was right.

James ground his teeth, but returned to the question "Crouch is paranoid to the extreme. All we have to do is feed him the information on the Stranger and he'll forget about a minor case of trespassing. And it's not like the DOM is going to want to advertise that a group of school children managed to circumvent their defences."

"I agree." Dumbledore broke in, and James resisted smugly grinning at Snape "The Minister has been facing critiques of his leadership in the past few months, and will doubtless use the Stranger to distract from the public. I am confident we can prevent any charges from being levelled at the students, and showing this memory will prove we were not involved." Dumbledore reasoned.

The Ministry had been misleading the press for years to try and look like they the situation under control when it reality it was anything but, and with the stalemate of the war they were beginning to wise up.

"In any case, it has been a long night, and I'm sure you all need some rest." The Headmaster dismissed them.

"Just one more thing Headmaster?" Lily interrupted, and the old teacher gave her a kindly smile "Of course Lily."

"I have to ask. The prophecy Neville found, is it…?" she couldn't seem to finish the sentence. The Headmaster visibly winced. He sighed deeply and stared off into space.

"Yes. It is the same prophecy that names Neville the savior of the light." James winced a bit. "I suppose you of all people deserve to know more. I have kept it silent in the hopes that it would fade from memory, but it seems I underestimated how far the Dark Lord would go for this information."

He turned fully towards them, the twinkle gone from his eye, replaced by a steel James had rarely seen. "I shall not dare tell you the exact wording, but I will tell you that it named a champion of light, who reunited a fractured world. There were only two individuals it could apply to: Neville, and Harry."

James flinched back like he had been struck. Just hearing his name after all this time stung. Dumbledore's gaze seemed to pierce him, pinning him to his seat. "I am deeply sorry for failing to protect your son Lily, James. I thought I had more time to safeguard them. But somehow the Purists learned of the foretelling and deduced who it alluded to. I am… words are insufficient to convey my guilt, or regret." The man seemed to age years in front of them.

"I can only ask that we move forward, and that you trust me when I tell you there is nothing else I have concealed." he said, eyes shining wetly.

He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. As always, Lily was stronger than he was "Of course Albus. Its, it's just difficult to hear it. We trust you." she said, her voice wavering only a little.

The Headmaster gave them a small thankful smile. James belated realized that Sirius and Remus had crowded around, looking just as broken as he was sure he looked.

Despite everything, having them share in his trama made it easier to bare. He wasn't alone in his pain.

Speaking of being alone, another thought sprang to mind "Headmaster, can I ask a favor?" his voice cracked a bit.

"Anything my dear boy." "Can we stay in the school tonight? I just don't feel comfortable being away from them after this." he asked.

Dumbledore smiled sadly "Of course. There are some rooms near the hospital wing, and if you would like to stay as well Arthur, Molly, you are of course welcome to stay as well."

Both redheads nodded, and James gathered the strength the stand up. He felt drained, like he'd been partially kissed. Still, he doubted he would get any sleep tonight. He knew what would haunt his dreams: the image of his beautiful baby boy lying there so still, his father's corpse a few feet away.


	8. Panic in Perspective

**Authors Note: **

**Now some people handle the news of Harry entering the fray… well, less rationally. Also two new POV characters, but I promise this is their only outing. And due to the style I have chosen I need a character present to experience things, so I have only myself to blame. **

The summons came in the middle of the night. The meeting point was a massive old manor near the coast of France, and was packed with Brethren of the cause. In the mix, Lucius Malfoy was just another figure in a red robe.

He was annoyed by the suddenness of the summon, and that he was not separated from the common chaff. He was a the richest member of the Purists still free, that should garner some respect!

But no, he was packed in with the escaped convicts, summoned from all their rat holes by their master in the middle of the night with no explanation.

The Dark Lord. Just the thought of the upstart made Lucius angry. In his distant youth, he had joined and eventually lead a small team of Blood Purists. They were all self-interested, he would freely admit that. They used the Purists banner as cover for their own reasons, and he personally made a fortune off it.

Following the idiocy that was the Sunday Massacre, Lucius had paid a fortune in bribes to protect himself. The few who knew his involvement in the Purists were swiftly disposed of, and the Malfoy family was officially free of any the Purists.

Or so he thought.

Years later, the Dark Lord had broken all the remaining Purists out of prison and forced their allegiance. Lucius was almost immediately blackmailed back into the Crimson robes by the arrogant bastard.

Lucius was a believer in the mission of the Purists, make no mistake. But he had always been slightly more concerned with his own power. Not all purebloods were superior, after all. But he certainly was.

He had the intellect, the money, and the magical power. But he had no desire to be the figurehead, to be noticeably in control. They were the ones who took the blame when things went wrong, and the mindless sheep could turn on them.

Better to be the power behind the throne, puppeteering the system. Much less risky, and few noticed his actions.

His masterstroke was going to be the recent election. Crouch had clung to power for years, but with the Blood Purists seemingly defeated he lost his tentpole issue. Lucius had thrown his support behind a vacuous, but charming bureaucrat named Cornelius Fudge. He had run on a platform of prosperity and an easing of the post Sunday security measures.

Fudge had been favored to win in a landslide, but just two weeks before the election the daft Dark Lord had to stage his debut and destroy all of Lucius's careful plans. With the Purist threat back in force the terrified public had rallied around Crouch and preceded to crush Fudge at the polls.

As if to rub salt into the wound, the Dark Lord had than forced Lucius back into the Purists and expected him to practically bankroll the entire organization. He had also made it very clear to Lucius that he not held in a position of trust. He was left out of major planning, only being brusquely told how much gold he was going to have to give every month. And not even by the Dark Lord himself! He had to deal with that fool Crabbe.

Combined with the political bribes and an economic recession the Malfoy fortune was being drained at an alarming rate. He had been forced to work twice as hard, cut every unnecessary expense and even take loans from the filthy goblins just to stay afloat.

And what was all this work and suffering buying? Nothing.

The Dark Lord had a fully supplied and trained army and he was using it like a small insurgency. He kept claiming that the purpose would come together soon, that all their preparation would be worth it. But the reassurances were ringing increasing hollow.

While the Dark Lord may not have trusted Lucius, by virtue of his position he was able to gather a great deal of information. Slowly but surely he was building a coalition to take power once the Dark Lord finally faltered.

He knew that the Dark Lord had recently been focused on two separate operations, first to kidnap Dorea Slytherin. Only for the team sent to vanish. It had been suspected that Lord Slytherin had intercepted them, but Lucius had his doubts. He would have no reason to hide the attempt, it was a political boon and good for a few prophet articles.

No, this stank of something else. Something dangerous. But whatever it was, it was egg on the Dark Lord's face and mutters of disent grew just a little bit louder.

The second major operation had two goals, first being to kill Longbottom and second to acquire a prophecy the boy was supposedly a party too. He had sent a group of some of the best fighters the Purists had, and apparently would be nearby to supervise.

Lucius doubted it had gone smoothly. He would have waited to take a victory lap, let his followers read about the triumph in the papers before grandly announcing it.

Malfoy had been pulled away before he could confirm anything, but apparently there was a code Black and Dumbledore was on the scene. That didn't bode well for the operation.

The rest of those present had a similar inclination if the tension and murmurs were anything to go by.

Personally, Lucius was torn. On one hand, seeing the Dark Lord take a public stumble would be very nice, and inched him closer to being ousted.

On the other, this failure would waste more resources and drain his vault. If the Dark Lord had any sense, he would put Malfoy in a charge of fixing whatever cock up he had made than claim the credit when it was fixed.

Lucius was distracting himself from the fact that the Dark Lord still hadn't seen fit to grace them with his presence, and the entire assembly was beginning to get twitchy.

Than, swirling shadows crept into the manor home, and silence fell over the room. Lucius was forced to jockey for position amongst his lessers to get a decent view of the raised speaking platform.

From the conjuried shadows the Dark Lord emerged, and Lucius could feel the anger rolling off him even at distance. Those closer to him backed up, squeezing into a wall of flesh. He was known to be somewhat temperamental, prone to cursing those who annoyed him.

Like a spoiled child.

The Dark Lord looked around the packed room, and Lucius felt a chill pass down his spine when the faceless gaze came over him. He refused to let the intimidation work on him though, and held his stance while those around him shifted back and lowered their heads.

He may have knelt, but no Malfoy cowered.

After a pregnant pause, the Dark Lord's strange disguised voice echoed out.

"My loyal warriors, I am saddened to report that your brothers attempt to finally kill Longbottom failed, and all but two of them were slain." He said tightly, and Lucius was glad for the concealing hoods as it meant he could sport a cruel grin without fear.

The Purists all shifted around, and the muttering began again. One of the first major things they had done in years was a failure? How could the Dark Lord allow this humiliation?

"Silence." He ordered darkly, and the mutters ceased immediately.

"I understand your anger, but this was not something your brethren could have anticipated. For it was Dumbledore, Slytherin, or the Ministry who stopped them tonight, but this man." An image of an aristocratic blonde man appeared, a roguish smile plastered on his face. Malfoy narrowed his eyes. Something about the grin was familiar, but he couldn't place it...

"Now, listen closely, so there are no misunderstandings" the Dark Lord said, a sharp edge in his tone that communicated misunderstanding would not be tolerated "You put all other tasks to the side and find out everything you can about this man, who he is, who he works with, how he likes his tea, hell even his shoe size. I want everything."

"If you find out anything about him, or locate him, report it at once. He is Archmage level, so a direct assault will only result in your death."

Lucius was shocked by this. A new Archmage? This would change the balance of the entire conflict, especially if he was poised against them.

It would make it even harder to win, especially since the Dark Lord had let the intuitive slip through his fingers.

"You all have your orders. You!" The Dark Lord pointed suddenly at Lucius "Attend me"

Lucius growled at the curt command, but shouldered his way through the mass of men into a back parlor. Once inside, the shadows slipped and filtered around everywhere. It felt like they were snatching lightly at his robes.

"How can I serve you my Lord?" Lucius asked, bowing his head low.

"Remove your hood Malfoy." He ordered, and Lucius made sure to wipe any emotion from his face before he complied.

It was likely a reminder that the Dark Lord could unmask him at any time. It stung his pride.

"I require something different from you Lucius. You have access to certain sources no others have. Your son's Godfather, and your sister-in-law." The Dark Lord explained smoothly, and Lucius tensed up.

"My Lord, you believe that they know something we do not?" he asked, surprised. Severus did have a line with Dumbledore and his wife still occasionally talked with her sister, but the Dark Lord had never used either connection before.

"I do not know. But Slytherin and Dumbledore will have a vested interest in finding out about this new Archmage. He is a threat to them as well."

"Of course. It may take some time as to not arouse suspicion." Lucius said, and in this case he wasn't lying. Severus wouldn't be free for a few weeks, and even than it would take some smooth talking and few drinks for the potion master to spill his secrets. Bellatrix… even on a good day she was an enraged hippogriff. Narcissa would be open to pumping her for information, but the two scheduled out their visits long in advance, and the next one wasn't for more than a month.

The Dark Lord waved his hand "It matters not. It may take time for them to learn anything useful anyway. Just remain on top of it." He said dismissively. "In the meantime, shutter everything non-essential. I doubt the stranger will just sit by. He was forced into conflict tonight, but he is ready for further conflict."

"As you wish my Lord. There is the problem of finances though. Even cutting back will still leave us in a deficit within a month." Lucius lied. He could support them for 6 months, but he would be damned if he volunteered to do so.

"I am disappointed to hear that Lucius. You should keep your finances in better order. Oh well, there are reserves we can fall back on to supplant your failure." The Dark Lord chided somewhat snidely, and Lucius's blood boiled. How dare he mock him, when just tonight he had failed yet again?

"Well, I shall have to trust you are capable of doing two things at once. You'd best not disappoint me Lucius." the shadows swirled and suddenly the Dark Lord was looming over Lucius, and he stumbled backwards only to slam into the closed door.

The Dark Lord leaned forward, his hood so close Lucius could feel the breath coming from underneath "Because when I am disappointed, I tend to become very unreasonable. And you have a son to think about." The Lord threatened lowly, and Lucius felt a bead of sweat drip down the back of his neck.

"Of course my Lord. And I would do anything to protect him." Lucius said, fighting to keep his voice steady. It was a veiled threat, but he was too valuable to kill.

"For the moment, at least." and Lucius's eyes went wide. He had felt no attacks no his barrier, his thoughts should be secure, how- "Occlumency is not foolproof Lucius. _Crucio_" His wand was out before Lucius could react.

Pain like liquid fire filled his veins. Lucius dropped, his mind only focusing on the agony. The pain ended just as quickly as it began, but the pain kept ricocheting up and down his body in waves.

He was on the floor screaming himself hoarse. It took a minute the cresting waves of agony subsided and he was finally able to breath. His throat was raw, and his whole body shook slightly.

He flinched when the Dark Lords wand was pressed into his forehead, and mewled pathetically.

"Oh, how quick the noble lord is turned into a sobbing mess on the floor. You claimed a Malfoy never cowers? That claim proved untrue." The Dark Lord mocked. So, he had been in Malfoys mind this entire time? How was it possible?

"That should hardly be your first concern. Instead, it is time we come to a new understanding."

The wand was pulled away, and the shadows split a moment later to reveal the Dark Lord sitting in one of the chairs. Lucius lay on the floor, staring at the Dark Lord with new fear.

"I am not blind or deaf. I know that some question my methods, resent me for taking control. You have fed discontent in the ranks, and you slide around, dripping venom from that silver tongue. But do you do anything? No, you merely whine about how I am draining your vault dry, like an insolent child disappointed by only ten christmas presents."

"You have only ever looked out for yourself, and yet have somehow convinced yourself that its righteous. But you are a fool, a fair weather friend if ever there was one. You threw your fellow Purebloods to the dogs the second you were threatened. Utterly disgraceful."

The Dark Lord leaned back in the chair, and levitated the still prostrate Lucius up so their heads were at the same level.

Lucius tried to pull back, but the fear was overpowering. This couldn't be how he died, it couldn't! The Dark Lord doubtless heard his thoughts, but kept speaking.

"I have tolerated you only because of your connections and gold. But my mercy is not limitless. This new Archmage will tilt the balance. I know when a man is looking for a glorious death, and he has selected me as his executioner. But who knows what he will accomplish before I oblige him?"

The Dark Lord seemed to be talking to himself, but than Lucius felt the unseen gaze snap back onto him.

"Which is why I am making our positions clear now. You. Serve. Me. And it will be ever thus. I assure you, if you perform well, and cease spreading doubt around the ranks, than you shall be richly rewarded when I control the country. But,"

Malfoy levitated closer to the seated Dark Lord, who leaned forward. Lucius squirmed under the attention, and his sweat dripped down his face.

"If you continue down this path, whining and plotting and sowing disloyalty, than I will make you into an example. It will take you weeks to die, and I will make sure your wife and son are in attendance for the entire time. Than we shall see who is eager to betray me."

"Now, you will increase your funding by 20%, you will do as you are ordered and you tell no one of what happened tonight. If you fail at any of these tasks, there will be no second chance. You are mine, Malfoy, until the day I decide you die."

Lucius gulped audibly, and nodded his head as fast as he could, not risking speaking.

The Dark Lord chuckled. "Let me be honest, you would be a terrible Dark Lord. This position requires backbone."

Suddenly, Malfoy was released from the spell and collapsed onto the floor. His wand was tossed down to him. He hadn't even noticed it had been taken.

He managed to grab it in shaking fingers, and stumbled towards the door.

"Greatest apologies my Lord, I-I will serve you faithfu-" Lucius's placations were cut off when the fireplace glowed green and he was magically propelled into the flames feet first. A long moment on spinning and he was shot out sideways into his own manor home. Bypassing the wards and security he had in place.

Lucius lay on the marble, breathing hard. That had been a shitshow. The Dark Lord had read his mind without troubling himself with the normal methods. It was terrifying. He had underestimated him, and had paid the price.

He had no choice but to be loyal. Even thinking disloyalty was a death sentence. It was certainly effective for control and intimidation.

Lucius had never heard of the talent, not even in the tallest of tales. But he supposed it was irrelevant. Even if he found a way to defend it, it still wouldn't save him. He was trapped, and he was sure the Dark Lord would have him watched. If he ran they would be hunted down mercilessly.

He had no information of significant value to trade with Dumbledore or Crouch. They might protect Draco, but they would take all his gold and throw him in Azkaban.

_Damnit, this kind of thinking will get me killed! I just have to serve the Dark Lord, and maybe I can still get out this alive._

Lucius was distracted when his wife entered the room, her wand out. "Lucius? What in Merlin's name are you doing on the floor?" She asked shrilly, and Lucius reluctantly pulled himself up to his feet. "Things didn't go well tonight." he said simply, passing his wife to head back to bed. He needed sleep.

"But, what-" "Nothing you should concern yourself with! Stop badgering me woman!" He yelled, exhausted and scared and hurting, and just wanting to lay down and pretend this night had never happened. Narcissa drew back affronted, but Lucius ignored her. The vapid cow was obsessed with spending most of the money the Purists didn't take, and he now had to deal with giving them an extra 20%.

What did he do that was deserving of this kind of treatment?

**oooOOOooo**

Rose was sitting in the chair of madam Pomphreys office, trying not to quail under the glares her parents and uncle Sirius were giving her. Alex had long since lost that battle, and was trying to hide behind her. Orion was sitting upright, seemingly determined to take the brunt of the scolding they all knew was about to come.

It was around 9:00 in the morning, and after a long night of potion induced sleep, all the parents had descended on their children. Mrs. Wealsy hadn't even bothered with a silencing charm before she went off on Ron and Ginny.

Mr. Lovegood had been surprisingly angry with his daughter, and Mrs. Longbottom looked positively murderous talking to her grandson. Only Hermione had avoided her parents showing up, but in the spirit of not being left out Professor McGonagall was seeing to her with all her stern glory.

Ever since she could remember, Orion had been just as much her brother as Alex, and Sirius an uncle. So, they were rolled into one big group.

Uncle Remus had been here early this morning, but had to leave before the scolding could commence. He had given her a disappointed look before he left though.

Rose almost would have preferred them shouting, but she could see the hurt in her mother's eyes that cut much deeper.

Her father started things off, his jaw held so tight he barely opened his mouth. "What were you thinking? Running away from Hogwarts, breaking in to the Ministry? For what?" he said in a tone that meant there was no good answer.

Orion beat her to the punch, trying to keep the adults focus on him, the martyr. "Neville had a vision of Dad and Uncle James being tortured in the Department of Mysteries, we didn't think we had time to do anything else. Luna came up with using the therstals to get to the Ministry, and most of the teachers were gone, we didn't think we could trust anyone else. So we went on a rescue mission." He said confidently, keeping his chin up.

Dad glared at them, and it Mom who spoke up next "So you just decided to run off without even bothering to look into it? You could have flooed me, or Tonks or Kingsley. Or, you could have gone to Professor Snape, who was still in the Castle!" she said, her voice raising in pitch and Rose winced. She leaned forward and responded while Orion was trying to figure out what to say.

"The vision indicated that the floo network was compromised! And well, going to Snape-" "Professor Snape." her mother correct primly, and Rose bit her tongue.

"Professor Snape has stated on multiple occasions that both Dad and Uncle Sirius were idiots, and the fact that he doesn't take us seriously made us somewhat reluctant to trust him with a matter of life and death!" Rose snapped.

Her mother shook her head disappointedly "Rose, you know that's not true. Professor Snape would have understood the gravity of the situation and he would have contacted Dumbledore."

Now that was a stretch "Oh please, he would have dragged his feet! Mom, I know you have a blind spot when it comes to Snape, but he hates everyone besides you and we couldn't take the risk that he wanted Dad dead!" Rose yelled, and her mothers eyes narrowed in rage.

"Rose Marie Potter, that is not true! You decided you hated Professor Snape long before now! When are you going to put aside your childish feud with the man and understanding that he is on your side!" Mom yelled, and Rose noticed neither Dad or Sirius was getting involved in this fight.

Ever since Rose had met Snape she was a small child she had known he hated her because she was James's daughter. He had looked at her and only seen her father, and he had singled her and Alex out since they had been at Hogwarts, to the point of maliciously sabotaging their grades. But in Mums eyes the man could do no wrong.

Orion snorted "The only childish one is Snape. He is a terrible teacher, and discriminates against use because of our house and our fathers. Even if he is 'on our side' he doesn't show it." he said harshly, and Lily was turning a dangerous shade of red.

"We're straying from the main topic. Even if you couldn't go to Snape, you still shouldn't have left to try and save me and Sirius." Uncle Sirius interrupted, and Lily glared at him. "You are untrained, and if the Purists had captured us they would be able to take you!" Uncle Sirius said.

"So we are just supposed to let you die?" Rose countered hotly, throwing her arms up.

"Yes!" Dad and Sirius said at the same time. Dad had a fire in his eyes Rose rarely saw. "Yes, that is exactly what you are supposed to do! I would rather be die a thousand times than have any of my kids in danger! The entire reason I am an Auror, that I risk my life is so you don't have to! What if one of you had died? I would trade my life for any of yours in a heartbeat! I, I, I can't, I won't let another one of my kids die!" James roared, and a couple tears escaped his eyes.

Rose flinched back like she had been slapped. In cases like this, it was only a matter of time before someone brought up the elephant in the room.

It was impressive really. Harry had died before Rose and Alex were born, but he still cast a long shadow over their lives. His name was always around, never far from her parents mind. She hadn't understood until she was older: why one of them was always around, why Mom sobbed on the last day of July, why they always took Halloween off and kept them indoors.

Rose felt her lip wobble. She often wondered what Harry would be like. For years, her parents had kept pictures hidden away, and even to this day Mom cried when she saw him. Rose had been 8 when she finally found a photo of him, bright green eyes and messy hair and that joyful smile babies all sported.

It was strange she had never met him and yet still missed him. Alex felt the same way, and Orion had taken the place of big brother. The two had played together as babies, and apparently been close as kin from the moment they met. It was like there was still a hole where he should be.

Dad was crying now, and so was Mom, a far away look in her eyes. Sirius turned away to wipe his eyes, but he laid a comforting hand on his best friends shoulder.

"We didn't think… I mean," Rose stuttered, her anger dying away. In the rush to go save her dad and Uncle, dying had never even crossed her mind. They had gone on adventures for years, but this was the first time they had gone beyond Hogwarts.

It was Alex who figured out what to do. He stood up and wrapped mom up in a hug. She clung to him, and Rose and Orion joined in with a big group hug.

"We're sorry. We didn't realize the danger. We just wanted to help." Alex murmured, and their parents all relaxed a little.

Alex had a way of soothing people, like a balm on jagged wounds.

They all pulled apart. Rose looked at the ground, guilt overwhelming her. "I'm sorry. We were just so sure we had the element of surprise, I thought… there's no excuse. I'm really sorry." Rose said, and Orion nodded vigorously.

Dad sighed, and he looked old. "We know you had good intentions, but the best things you can do for us is to stay safe, and leave the fighting to the adults."

Rose remembered the stranger who had saved them, and his final pieces of advice. "Well, I still think we should train more." She said cautiously, and everyone shot her incredulous looks.

"I don't mean we'll do anything else like last night, just some more dueling training just in case." Rose backpedaled quickly.

Uncle Sirius shook his head "As long as you stay where you're supposed to be, you won't need anymore advanced tactics." he disagreed.

Rose and Orion had both decided years ago they wanted to be Aurors, despite the objections of their parents. It seemed very hypocritical to them, because when Alex announced he wanted to be a healer all of them had praised him and supported his decision.

Rose sighed "Well, maybe. But the War is getting worse, and they aren't going to stop targeting Neville. Besides, last night that stranger showed us just how much we still have to learn."

Dads face twisted a little at the mention of the man "He's a vigilante murderer, Rose. Not someone you should aspire to be."

Mom nodded "And his advice was for you to kill as well." She said angrily.

Alex suddenly stood still "Wait. His other piece of advice has been bugging me all night. How did he know it was a lie that lured us out?"

Rose hadn't thought much about it, to be honest. Everything about the man was strange, and she had been more fascinated by the duel in the Atrium, replaying it over and over in her mind.

It was the confidence she admired. If he ever was afraid he was a master at hiding it, and he had been bold enough to insult the Dark Lord to his face. She desperately wanted that sort of easy competence.

Dad shook his head "I don't know. We still haven't figured out he found out you were in danger. He probably got it from the Purists." he speculated.

That didn't feel right to Rose. Thinking about it, his tone was too emotional, and there was an understanding in his eyes when he spoke.

Mom broke in before she could say anything "Let's not get too far off topic. You were still extremely reckless last night." she said with a harsh look.

_Bugger. Looks like we're going to be here for a while. _Rose thought as she settled back into her chair.

**oooOOOooo**

Pomphrey didn't let them out until late that afternoon, with the exception of Ginny. They all split up, even Alex went off on his own. Neville went off to meet the Headmaster like a man walking to the gallows. She was curious about the prophecy, but doubted Dumbledore would share anything with them. Though Neville blamed himself for them being lured out last night.

Rose sighed. It wasn't his fault. She was the one who immediately advocated running off to save her family, ignoring all dissent.

_I need to apologize to Hermione._

The girl had been correct. Maybe they should have trusted Snape or Slytherin, or at least sent them a note. In any case, she had driven her friends headlong into a trap.

Rose was angry with herself, she should have known better. She prided herself on tactics and Auror mentality, but she had forgotten all of it when under pressure.

All of them had ways to relax after stressful situations: Neville would go to the Greenhouse once he was free, Ron would head to the kitchen, Hermione was probably hunting down that transfiguration treatise the stranger mentioned. Luna would go down to Hagrid's hut to spend some time with the animals. Orion would go to the astronomy tower and Alex would be flying to clear his mind.

Rose's way of relaxing was a bit different. She had slipped off into the empty parts of the school and found an abandoned classroom.

Once inside she set up a few targets that would move about in random patterns and began dueling practice.

She cast stunning and disarming spells, dodging imaginary spells and trying to destroy the targets.

"Stupify!" she yelled, casting at one particularly elusive target, imagining it was the Blood Purist who was holding her brother captive.

She missed by a full inch.

It was not going well. Rose was getting angrier and angrier as she cast, seeing all the spells she missed last night, all the times she failed her friends.

_I need to be better. I __have_ _to be better. My friends are counting on me!_

The battle in the DOM had proven to Rose that while she was above her peers in Defense, she was still a child when compared to real fighter. Than there was the stranger.

He had both the precision and speed to duel a whole group at one without trouble, and the raw power to go toe to toe with a Dark Lord.

Sure, he had killed, but he was right. There was no other choice.

Rose desperately wanted to be like him, to have the strength to stand against the Purists so no else had to.

Maybe, when the Headmaster tracked him down, he would join the Order. She might be able to persuade him to teach her. He had seemed to understand them. She felt connection to him, like she

Or maybe he would tell her no, that he would handle the fighting and she should just forget the War and live in a fantasy. Why couldn't they see she and the others needed the skills to fight the Purists? How could they be so blind?

Rose was so worked up she was screaming, anger narrowing her field of vision to a point around the targets.

She didn't know how long she was in this state when out of the corner of her eye she spotted a dark shape. Rose whipped around so fast she unbalanced and fell over with a squeal.

Rose thunked down onto the ground, and immediately felt a blush bloom on her face.

She popped her head up and saw possibly her least favorite person looking at her.

"That was pathetic Potter." Professor Slytherin said smugly, a little grin plastered on her face. Fantastic.

Rose rose to her feet as quickly as she could "How long have you been watching?" she demanded a little shrilly, her whole body hot from embarrassment.

Slytherin tilted her head, a slightly dangerous look in her eyes. "Long enough. Honestly Potter you should sell tickets, it was a riot. Really cheered me up with all your flailing about." She said mockingly, and Rose blushed deeper, the tips of her ears burning.

"So glad to cheer you up Professor, but was there a reason you were watching or did you just come here to mock me?"

"Those things aren't mutually exclusive. Besides, I wasn't looking for you. Just heard you screaming from a few corridors down and came to investigate." Slytherin leaned against the door frame and twirled her wand around her fingers.

Rose resisted the urge to roll her eyes when she spotted she was holding a copy of the evening prophet in her other hand.

The paper this morning had a story on the battle, but it was only in a vague description.

"I was going to leave you to your pretend battle, but as I watched I wondered how any of you made it out of the Ministry alive. Details are a little sparse, but the rumor mill is churning as usual."

Rose bit her tongue. Anything she said would be given to Lord Slytherin, and even if he was an enemy of the Purists didn't change the fact that he was a bigoted dark wizard. And Professor Slytherin was no better.

"You know that saying, it's better to be lucky than good? Pretty much sums up the whole ordeal." Rose said, not mentioning the Stranger. Hopefully Slytherin would take the hint and leave her alone.

No such luck, as the irritating woman made a show of unfurling the paper and making sure Rose saw the large artists rendering of the strangers smiling face on the front cover, as well a photo of the destroyed atrium.

"Really? Lucky, is that what he called himself? Seems a little odd for such a powerful mage." she said sarcastically, and Rose groaned internally.

"No professor. I just meant it was lucky that he showed up in time to save us." Rose said tiredly. Slytherin gave her a quizzical look and cocked her head like an owl. "Oh, forgive me. But how can you be so sure he was there to save you? Maybe he was just there to kill the Purists and saving you was just a happy accident."

She didn't know why, but the questioning of the stranger made Rose angry. "He could have left us easily, but he didn't! One of the Purists ran away and he stayed with us."

Slytherin leaned in "I'm sorry Potter, did I touch a raw nerve?" she said in a high, babying voice that made Rose's teeth grind. Slytherin used that voice to taunt students and diminish them.

"I'm sure it wasn't on purpose Professor. It's just that I'm thankful someone showed up to help us, and I don't think that he's evil just because he killed."

"I never said he was evil Potter. Plenty of people kill, and I'm hardly one to judge. Just saying that you seem very protective of a man you've met once."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand." Rose said archly, and a glare crossed Slytherins face before she wiped it off.

"Enlighten me Potter. Unless you'd like some hands on duelling training." she said with feigned sweetness, and Rose shivered a little. Professor Slytherin was rare to dock points or assign detentions. Instead, she would demolish the student in a brief duel, attempting to break their spirit.

It usually worked.

Rose bit her tongue, and tried to be respectful. She was in enough trouble, she didn't need to start a feud with another Professor.

"I only meant that I felt a connection. He risked his life, and I know that the only reason my friends and I are alive is because he came in. But now everybody is treating him as a criminal or claiming he's terrible because he treated us like adults!"

Slytherin cocked an eyebrow at her "I did hear your mother cursing him rather loudly. And saving you doesn't sound like treating you like adults."

Rose lifted her head "Well, he put me at the back of the formation, and he told us that if we were going to be part of this war, we need to be willing to kill." she said proudly. He was talking sense at the very least.

"Potter, you're not going to be part of this war, so stop deluding yourself. The arrogance that you think you can somehow tip the balance is truly staggering." she said harshly, a guarded look in her face.

Rose shook her head "Not you too. I don't think that somehow I can win this War on my own, but its has been going on since long before I was born, and it's not showing any signs of stopping!" Rose spun and looked at out the window onto the sunny grounds.

"Why do all you adults try and hold us back? The Purists have been trying to kill Neville for years, and we are all targets. Whether you like it or not, we need to be ready. Because when all of you die we won't be able to play pretend. Because let me be clear, you do not have this under control and at this rate I'm going to have to train my kids to join this war!"

Rose spun back to look at the Professor, only to gasp when she saw that Slytherin had closed the distance and was looming over her, face twisted in anger. Rose took a step back, but Slytherin just stepped closer.

"You have no idea what your talking about. How stupid are you, that you think we can't tell, that the march of time bring our children ever closer to battle and death. You are a naive child! You think that it's so easy to just flip a switch and instantly become a remorseless killer. But it doesn't work like that, and your parents are trying to protect you from making a choice you don't understand the consequences of!"

Slytherin leaned in so close her face filled all of Roses vision "And finally, never say that you would train your children, like destroying their childhood and forcing them into a war is some sort of fucking virtue! When you children you'll understand that, but until then keep your mouth shut!"

With a final glare, Slytherin stormed out of the empty classroom her black robes swirling around her.

Rose stayed still for a moment, before she gulped loudly.

_Blimey, I forgot how scary she can be when she gets a nark on. _

Still, anger filled her. What utter crap! She was clearly blind to reality, she was the one under the delusion that it wouldn't come to Rose's generation to clean up their mistakes. There was no choice to make.

She took a deep breath, and relaxed. With a quick spell the door was shut and locked, and she set a small alarm to go off if it was opened. She transfigured more targets and went back to work. Even if the adults didn't take them seriously and wouldn't train them, she would keep working.

She had too.

**Authors Notes:**

**Kind of a shorter chapter, but the I wanted to get into the headspace of some of the a different perspectives. Please note all of these are biased viewpoints.**

**Neither Rose nor Lucius are going to be main characters going forward mostly because Rose is just a younger, slightly more stable Harry and Lucy is annoying to write.**


	9. A Night in the Life

**Authors Note: **

**Alright, I suck at proofreading. So, if anyone is interested in being a beta reader, please PM me! And thank you to all the reviewers, especially mwinter1 and courtofdust for both listing exact flaws, so I could correct them as soon as possible.**

**Also, if you're to leave a hateful review please at least make it coherent, because otherwise I honestly have no idea what you're trying to say.**

**Edit: As this is only my second fic, I didn't realise the scene breaks I was using were getting deleted in the Upload. So thanks to user plums for pointing that out. I have added them into the whole story so far.**

Harry cast a quick silencing charm on his fast food wrapper before he peeled the big mac open and began wolfing it down.

He was seated on a rooftop in a charming old suburb of London, his legs dangling off the three story pre-war house. It would have been a strange sight had anyone been awake to see it. It was 2:00 in the morning. But Harry was cloaked in numerous stealth charms, and so even if anyone had been awake, they'd be none the wiser.

His attention was firmly on a gap between two of the quaint houses.

Once, there had been a house there, a richly appointed three story home, far older than the rest of the block. Harry supposed that technically it still was there, hidden under numerous awards and squeezed into a the alleyway by magic, and made unplottable for good measure.

It was the ancestral home of a minor Pureblood family, the Mallards, who had always been fourth rate in society. At least until David Mallard burst onto the business scene a few years ago, buying up numerous apothecaries and slowly but surely expanding his empire into all many of magical agriculture.

Of course, he had some help. It just so happened that every time he decided to expand his major competitors were raided by the Purists, letting him step neatly into the void.

He hid it well, staying out of the limelight, and his family mostly remained living in the same conditions.

The only reason Harry had learned of him was that Yaxley mentioned his name during interrogation. The man had known disappointingly little, only really filling in some of the gaps on the organization and command structure.

Harry had been snooping around for the last few days, and found the man and his wife were basically shut ins. Their house elf left to buy food every few days, but doubtless knew nothing of value.

But Mallard couldn't run his business through owl post. David left to visit Gringotts three times a week, seemingly randomly.

He looked calm and composed, but Harry saw the telltale signs. His wand was never far from his hand, and his eyes were too sharp. He apparated around randomly before landing precisely outside the goblin bank, going in for just fifteen minutes and emerging none the richer. Harry couldn't slip in with him, the Gringotts wards would detect him instantly.

And then there was the second time he left the safety of his wards. Early in the morning last week he had left for 2 hours.

Harry had only learned of it the next day when checking his surveillance runes. He had been halfway across the country trying and failing to set up surveillance on Malfoy Manor.

He was sure it was something shady, but the only way to be sure was to actually follow the man. Of course, David could just be having an affair, but Harry needed to make sure.

Which was why he was sitting in the dark eating a fast food burger he'd been keeping warm for the past few hours just for this occasion. Stakeouts were often boring, and having food kept ones attention up.

He let his mind wander, keeping his senses on the light buzz of magic surrounding the gap in the houses.

It had been three weeks since the Battle of the DOM, and Harry's life had gotten considerably more complicated.

He didn't regret saving the teens. Still, it did mean the country was plastered with his glamored face, and Crouch had started a full scale manhunt to track him down. Which meant it was only a matter of time before they found his false identity, months before he had intended them too.

He could have accepted it, let the name and face go, if he had just killed grunts. But he had duelled the Dark Lord, and even to the untrained eye his power was undeniable. The Prophet had gone full tilt coverage on the battle, publishing dozens of stories and editorials about him and the Dark Lord.

The Ministry was quick to mark him a vigilante murderer, though most of the public didn't seem to care, more interested about gossip and fantasy about who he was.

Most of the theories painted a connection between him and the Dark Lord, claiming he was his brother or son or father, and it was all some personal feud. Or that he was the protégé of Dumbledore or Slytherin who had gone rouge. So far, none had come close to the mark.

Well, the Quibbler did publish that he was an alien from Pluto, which good for a laugh.

Both Archmages had emphatically denied any connection to Harry, but had begun their own separate investigations. Slytherin was mostly staying back, but Harry had marked a few informers floating around, and at least a few of them probably belonged the Lord.

Albus was pursuing him much more directly, sending Order members out to track him down. Harry wasn't surprised. He was a major threat, not to mention he had used several techniques he learned from his Albus which would peak the old man's curiosity. Besides, Harry had interacted with the chosen one, and he had given the school children advice that ran counter to Albus's philosophy. That landed him comfortably on the old mans shit list.

Harry had considered just going to him, explaining himself. But he knew Albus would be unwilling to fully commit to Harry's tactics, and the Order might riot under the new direction. He couldn't take the risk that Albus would still deem him a threat even knowing who he was, and then the two men would be forced to fight.

On a more personal note, he wasn't eager to face the alternate versions of his friends and family. He had buried too many. And for them seeing what he had become would cause even more heartbreak and despair.

Best to keep his distance until the war the situation was desperate enough to warrant contact. Which was hopefully never.

Of more direct consequence was how the Blood Purists reacted.

The raids had suddenly ceased after the Atrium duel, and the underworld was flooded with gold to find out anything about him.

Back in the day when the Death Eaters had pulled the same tactic, Harry had made the mistake of trying to be proactive, setting traps and ambushes.

But every location he chose was a breadcrumb that prolonged the chase, and ultimately nearly got him killed.

This time he was simply ignoring the efforts of the other groups to track him down. While the Purists wasted their time searching for a nonexistent trail, he would return the favor and track them down.

Then there was the Dark Lord himself. Harry was fairly sure he hadn't met the mans alternate version back in his reality. His dueling style was interesting, but he leaned far too much on his conjured shadows to survive.

If Harry could find a way to dispel them, the Dark Lord would be as good as dead.

He was brought out of his musing when he felt a shift in the magic around the gap in the houses. From under a powerful notice me not charm stepped David Mallard in a crisp muggle suit.

That was odd. Most Purebloods would never come close to muggle clothing, but David was wearing it like he was born to it. He strolled confidently down the street, and to Harry's surprise didn't apparate. Instead, at the end of the street a London cab pulled up, and David slid into the back.

_Alright, this is definitely suspicious. Especially seeing as how he would have needed to place a call to get a cab at this hour of night._

Harry levitated silently off the roof, scrunching up the empty fast food wrapper into his thigh bag. Davids magical presence bloomed in the mostly non magical area, and Harry had no problem tracking it.

He flew silently about fifty feet above the ground, shadowing the taxi as it weaved through the dark streets.

It was a long and boring route that took nearly 43 minutes to complete even in the near empty streets. Th taxi pulled up on a rundown industrial area, and David smoothly got out. Harry rose into the night air, making sure he was at least 80 yards away.

As he suspected, Mallard cast a few detection spells on the area, but their ranges weren't long enough to detect him.

Once he was sure he was alone, Mallard moved quickly over into the mess of warehouses, walking with swift purpose. Harry followed easily, though he determined the location he was going to quickly. It felt like a huge blank space, utterly devoid of everything.

Even the most non-magical areas had a light amount of residual magic from living things. There was only one piece of magic that would leave a place this barren. The Fidelius charm.

It was an unbreakable magical barrier, even Harry couldn't get through without permission from the secret keeper. But he might be in luck, because he felt the charm react when Mallard approached in a way it didn't when dealing with a normal entrant.

It made sense, Mallard was after all not a resident, and he remained shut tight behind his own wards most of the time.

Harry watched as the wizard vanished into the charm, his magical signature vanishing with him. Harry settled down on a nearby warehouse roof, and waited. There was no risk of being detected.

The main issue with the Fidelius, and the reason Harry didn't use it, was because the charm took so much power and was so sensitive that you couldn't layer other wards on top.

If the building already had extremely old wards woven into the structure, they could remain, but were diminished by the Fidelus. That was what happened in Grimmauld Place.

It was doubtful a warehouse was under ancient warding, more likely it was a cheaply purchased and placed under the charm to serve as a storehouse.

According to Yaxley, the Purists were still organized into small cells of 5-10 Azkaban escapees who would travel and live together. They were trained and drilled in small tactic formations, but some of their training included larger battle plans. These cells would be given their orders either though dead drops or mass meetings.

But they all wore their robes, concealing who was involved.

Yaxley's cell had been living in an unplottable house near the coast, getting most of their food and supplies from muggle sources, which he was sure was a point of tension. But the part Harry was interested in was that all their potions came from dead drops, though once Mallard had delivered the supply personally after one of Yaxley's men was grievously wounded.

The interrogation had also revealed that the rank and file Purists were chafing under the Dark Lords rule. They were eager to take the war into the open, but he kept delaying, and they were losing patience. Yaxley had even mentioned that some were planning a coup, and he wasn't opposed to it.

This made Harry glad he'd failed to kill the Dark Lord straight away. If he had, the Purist would have exploded out in open war. Now, he could avoid the Dark Lord while destroying his army, hopefully keeping a lid on the violence.

Once the exhaustive five hour interrogation was over, Yaxley's corpse was just another rock in the Thames.

Harry only had to wait half an hour before Mallard reemerged, looking the same as he had before. He was still alone, and Harry decided there would not be a better chance to get some more information.

Silently, Harry floated down behind Mallard as he walked fast through the empty warehouses.

'_Stupify' _Harry thought, the red spell striking Mallard point-blank in the back. He crumpled to the ground before even realizing he was under attack.

Harry quickly moved the unconscious man into one of the nearby warehouses, well away from the warded storehouse. Harry set up some quick runic tripwires and silenced the area. He slipped on his pureblood glamor ring, and a few transfigured restraints later, he was ready.

"_Rennervate_" he cast softly, and Mallard jerked awake, struggling against his bonds. He looked around and even in the low light he saw Harry, and paled considerable. "Oh fuck me."

"Well, I wasn't planning on it, but if that's your first reaction to waking up restrained who am I to refuse?" Harry mocked, and watched as Mallard somehow went even paler. It was kind of disturbing.

The man blubbered a little, but Harry just shook his head..

"Calm down David. I have a more pressing matter than carnal desire. See, I want to get into that warehouse you're secret keeper of. And any other Purist storehouses you know of." Harry said casually, leaning against the concrete wall.

Mallard was able to breath through his panic, and he wiped his face of emotion. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Harry clicked his tongue "David, David. Do you think I'm stupid? Lets cut the crap, your apothecaries fuel the dark army. Yaxley told me you were the one to deliver the potion that saved Goldman."

Mallard glared at him, but his pulse was thrumming in his neck giving away his fear.

Under interrogation, the only real defense was silence. The second you start talking you give your interrogator the rope to hang you with. By interacting, Mallard had already lost, he just hadn't realised it yet.

Still, he seemed determined to make this difficult "So, you kidnapped me on the story of a convicted murderer? Yes, I'm sure that will hold up. If you want to 'cut the shit' than lets do it. You work for the Ministry, and eventually you'll have to prove all of this in a court of law, and that's when my barrister while take your balls." Mallard snarked.

Harry rolled his eyes. It appeared Mallard had subscribed to the not unpopular theory that he was some new weapon of Crouch. Unfortunately for Mallard, there was only one thing no Ministry employee was allowed to do.

"Crucio" Harry cast almost lazily.

Mallard just had time to realise what was happening before the spell hit him and he let loose a horrible scream. Harry hid his distaste for the spell. He took no pleasure in it.

For both of the other unforgivables, there was a fringe case where it could be allowed. In his world the Ministry had briefly authorized Aurors to use the Killing Curse in its final days to try and blunt the Death Eaters offensives.

The Imperius had to specifically authorized by the Minister for emergencies to coerce cooperation when no other option exsted. But the Cruciatus curse? That was totally forbidden.

_Amusing how many exceptions and exemptions exist for the so-called Unforgivables. _Harry mused as Mallard thrashed against his restraints.

He released the spell after only a few seconds, but it was enough to leave the Purist quivering and panting.

Harry stepped up into his personal space and Mallard tried to flinch back. "I don't work for the Ministry David. There is no limit to the suffering I can inflict on you. The only thing that can save you is giving me what I want." Harry said coldly, and David looked like he was going to cry.

He folded like a cheap suit "Wh-what do you want to know?"

**oooOOOooo**

A brief but interesting interrogation later, Harry had full access to the warehouse. Mallard ran all his supplies through here, and worked with a small team of herbalists. The place also served as one part of potion production.

It was easier to buy the ingredients and brew them up themselves. Potion masters were few and far between. Harry could only be described as a journeyman. He wondered if he would find Severus inside tonight.

Back in his world, the two had evolved from veiled adversaries to reluctant allies, maybe they could have hammered out all their differences if Severus hadn't been murdered by Lestrange. Harry had been annoyed by the setback, and the Light never found a potion master his equal.

In this world Severus was still a teacher, which made him think Dumbledore was deliberately keeping him close, either to protect him or keep an eye on him. He wasn't named as a Purist in the Auror files, but he might be working undercover for the Order.

If he was here, Harry would have to ascertain where his loyalty lay, and if needed put the man down.

Mallard was still alive, knocked out nearby. If he died, the fidelus would be affected. Besides, if the man had been lying, Harry would need to 'talk' to him again.

He conjuried a quick and dirty glamour of a Blood Purist robe before passing through the wards. The warehouse expanded into existence from gap, and it was exactly the same as the other around it.

Harry walked right up to the front door. It was assumed that if someone knew the secret, they were trusted. It was sloppy.

The inside of the warehouse was night and day to the outside. It had been magically transformed into a lush greenhouse. Magical plants were very sensitive, but some of them could be grown under magical sunlight. The area had been expanded so large one couldn't make out the opposite wall. At least two quidditch fields could fit in the space, and the roof had been raised tall enough for magical rain clouds and conjuried sunlight. Row upon row of plant stretched out into the distance, and a light drizzle of rain fed them. Harry could see quaint houses on the far side as living quarters. According to Mallard, this entire operation was overseen by just 8 Purists, who also worked to brew the potions.

Given that Mallard had just arrived for his weekly bookkeeping session, all of the Purists were asleep except for one who was brewing a dose of liquid luck. He was in a sealed lab behind the living quarters. The potion was still a way off from completion, and Harry couldn't move it, otherwise he would be tempted to take it with him.

It took months to brew and used expensive ingredients. It was also a master level potion, meaning that whoever was brewing it was talented, and his death would hurt the Purist cause.

Harry weaved around the raised tables full of plants towards the houses, not sensing anyone outside. The houses were arranged into a mini street, and the ceiling was enchanted to show the sky.

It was cozy, and it made sense that these men would make it nice. There was low risk of Auror raids, but none of them could risk going out as they were all Azkaban escapees. The Dark Lord kept his men on a short leash, and Mallard noted that they were getting increasingly discontent with it.

Still, Harry found it sinfully decadent. Getting attached to a place was foolish. The only place Harry had truly considered home was Hogwarts, and after it had been lost he had been moving so often he never had time to form an attachment. They were all disposable.

The door were all warded lightly, and he sensed each contained only one magical. They weren't spelled to prevent attack, and none of them were even tied into an alert spell. It was pathetic.

Not that any of that would have saved them from him, but it was the principal of the thing.

A few simple charms and he was inside the first house. Everything bled magic, transfigured and made permanent. The Purist was upstairs unmoving, and Harry made his way through the opulent apartment.

He crept up the the stairs and up to the bedroom door, which was cracked open. From within was nothing but the sound of deep breathing.

Dropping into a crouch, Harry silenced the door and crept inside. A large four poster bed dominated the room in the darkness with a man on top, chest rising and falling.

The man was lying on his back, and he looked very peaceful. His face was pale and pudgy, and his gut protruded heavily. He had left his wand on the bedside table, and Harry silently summoned it into his hand.

Mallard knew all the men here. None of them were frontline fighters, but their leader and the master brewer was Edmen Bones, cousin of Amelia. It appeared after the horrors of Azkaban they were all eager to gorge themselves.

Mallard also organized their food and luxuries, and when he had listed out a section at least twice as long as their requirements for potion making Harry had to stop himself from bursting out laughing.

But Mallards knowledge ended at this warehouse, and he had no idea where the completed potions were sent or how they were delivered. But hopefully Mr. Bones could help with that piece of the puzzle.

Still, he had work to do before that. Standing over the pudgy Purist Harry lifted his wand.

'_Punctum carnem' _Harry thought. It was a spell of his own creation, designed to silently kill with the least trama or mess. At the tip of his wand a small ball of air was compressed until it was solid. An instant later the air bullet shot forward and punched a small hole in the man's head with a soft wet noise.

He went still, and a small dribble of blood came out of the hole but otherwise nothing changed. It was a painless death, and frankly all the mercy Harry was willing to give.

The next three houses were similar, though the third he could tell the purist was still awake. It didn't save him, he barely shifted when Harry snuck into the room, with his back to the door hunched over a desk.

Harry put a hole in the back of his head and the man slumped forward with a slight exhale of air.. Shifting the body over he got a look at what he was writing.

It seemed to be a letter to his wife.

"**I have never longed for you more. Here, all we do is work, day in and day out. The others are all sick of it as well. In my dreams, we are together in the garden at my Great Uncle's estate, looking up a real sky and sipping champagne. Soon it will be more than a dream my love, once the Dark Lord delivers us victory."**

There was a time that would have tunged at Harry's heartstrings, but now he just swept the letter aside and rifled through the rest of the drawers.

He understood that in order for this man and his family to be happy, it would require the deaths of thousands, and the subjectation of the muggles and muggleborns. He found nothing else of note in the office. It seemed the Dark Lord didn't like paper trails.

The rest were fast asleep when he ended their lives.

Harry exited their mock village and made his way back to a grey stone dome beyond it. It was overkill for most things, but in this case having a fully secured blast bunker would protect both the valuable plants and make sure any mishaps wouldn't compromise the wards.

There was a few cases of potions, and Harry poked through them. It was a mix of healing, poison antidotes, bone regrowers, and few he was unfamiliar with.

The blast door to the brewing space was sealed with a simple spell. But it would alert Bones to his entry, and dueling around so many volatile potions was stupid.

Instead, he'd have to lure him out. Harry banged hard on the door "Hey!" he yelled, the sudden noise making him wince. He could barely sense Bones, but the man was clearly startled by the sudden interruption. The magical signature moved quickly, and the door was yanked opened sharply.

"What part of 'no interruptions' do you dimwits not understand?! I am in the middle of a very delicate brewing stage and I do not have time to babysit you cockless shits!" The man stormed out of the bunker, spittle flying.

Harry rolled his eyes under the galmor, and Bones finally noticed that unlike all the other Purists here, he was actually in shape. A look of confusion crossed his plump face.

"Wait, who're-" "Stupify" Harry said and Edgar crumpled to the floor a look of panic frozen on his face.

Harry shook his head and finally cancelled his glamor. He summoned Edgars wand and transfigured his robes into restraints. He absently put the unconscious man over near the readied potions, which he was planning to take with him. Why let them go to waste?

He pushed his way into the brewing chamber and noted that the liquid luck was in a fairly small cauldron. Still, it looked about two weeks away from completion, so he ignored it. A few other potions were still going, bubbling away overnight.

He didn't recognize most of them, but did see a stress relieving potion he was all too familiar with. Still, no time to waste.

Once Mrs. Mallard realized her husband was late, he had no doubt she would raise the alarm. When the Purists realized what was happening, this entire supply chain would isolated. The individual purists may not be that careful, but the Dark Lord was.

In the Auror files (which had overall told him almost nothing new, it would have been a waste of a trip if it hadn't been for saving the teens) he had learned that the second a single section of the Purist operation was compromised, they would immediately caturize the whole thing, often killing everyone they couldn't trust.

Harry summoned most of the remaining ingredients into his bottomless satchel, and dumped out a solid silver cauldron to take for himself. Another reason to raid the Purists; it would keep his overall costs down.

Most of the equipment was useless to him though. Best to destroy it.

He turned up the flame on all the burners to maximum, and grabbed a bunch of manticore livers. He dumped two in every cauldron, three in the liquid luck. Instantly, the potions turned different angry colors and Harry smirked. He had effectively turned all of them into bombs, and having so many packed together… well, it was a good thing the bunker was reinforced.

In just a bit of a rush, Harry exited the bunker and sealed the door. A moment later the entire magically expanded building shook and the dome groaned. It was quieter than he expected, but still he felt the heat as fire burned inside.

"_Rennervate_" He said, pointing his wand down at the uncloaked Bones. The wizard jerked into awareness, and took in Harry in his blonde pureblood glamor.

Rather than fear, his face twisted into a wrathful snarl.

It seemed the man was made of tougher stuff than Mallard. "Where do you take the potions?" Harry demanded, not expecting it to work.

He was right.

"Go fuck yourself." Bones spat.

_Oh well. At least I tried. _Harry thought to himself with a mental shrug. It seemed Bones wanted to do this the hard way.

"Legilimens." Harry cast, staring into Edgars eyes. His probe hit a solid occlumency barrier. It took the aspect of a seamless granite wall, stretching high and wide. Harry willed his consciousness into a spike, and seeing no obvious weaknesses he simple picked a place at random and drove into the wall.

Bones piled mental defences behind the breach, but he was clearly unprepared for the viciousness of the the assault, and fell back.

The spike of willpower drove deeper, sending cracks through the wall, and raw emotion dripped out. Bones was afraid, and panicking.

He had good reason. Harry gave one last push, and Edgars granite wall shattered, letting loose a flood of emotions and stray thoughts. Flashes of memory, of his long ago youth, of a woman's face that carried love and regret. It was overwhelming, but Harry didn't bother with any of the chaff. The question he had asked earlier prompted the man, and hopefully the moment would be close to the surface.

Harry sifted through the sea of memories, mostly recent mundanities, but Edgar was still trying to fight him, and Harry felt his intent try to push a set of memories away from him. He followed it like a bloodhound, and batted aside the Purists pathetic attempts to stall him.

He came to the memory the man was trying to hide. It was tinged with annoyance and exasperation. Through Edgars eyes he made out a darkened lake, and a large old manor. The memory was jerky, and Bones seemed to race forward towards the door.

He was stopped and searched by a small squad of Purists who all seemed on low alert, and Bones moved a few cases of potions. He needed the location, and could feel Edgar fading. Outside the mental arena, the Purist was shaking and twitching, blood seeping from his eyes and nose.

Within his mind, memories were starting to fade, a grey mist encroaching. Edgar had lost focus and was no longer bothering to fight. Harry forced the dying mind to focus on the memory he had pulled up. Things raced forward, and suddenly a snatch of speech came through "_-living here is making all of them soft, they're stewed all the time! Plus the French Aurors aren't even looking half the-" _

The manor was in France, near the coast. With the final bit of information, just as he shuddered to his death, Edgar gave up the apparition location, twenty miles inland from the channel.

Harry pulled out of the mind, feeling the machinery of life shutting down. He winced slightly as full sensation of the real world popped back in. Bones was still twitching, but that was just his body not understanding that it was already dead.

Unable to shrink the potion boxes, Harry decided to just levitate them wandlessly. He'd drop them at the bunker before hopping the channel.

**oooOOOooo**

Unlike the warehouse, the abandoned French manor was under normal wards, and they were fairly weak. Which made sense, seeing as how they were supplemented by a at least twenty Blood Purists, and if this place was discovered strong wards would just trap the defenders. It was 4 :15 am by the time Harry had bypassed the warding scheme using his subtle infiltration style. He had to be careful, as the Purists ran regular patrols around the ward line.

He made it work. He had to. Once he slipped onto the grounds, he avoided the patrols with ease. The manor had been magically restored and strengthened, and he could sense 35 distinct magical signatures.

In the basement there was quite the haul of equipment to his sense, and perhaps a pensive as well.

The Purists clearly weren't expecting company, as the two guards passing by on patrol didn't even have their wands out, and were chatting about Quidditch.

He couldn't risk spell fire being seen, so he conjuried a dagger in his left hand and crept up behind them.

"I'm telling you, with Dorner on the chaser line, they've got a chance this season!" "Well, they'll certain up their scoring but their defence is rubbish, especially with Rimmel retiring. Their keeper is abysmal, and they've got-" the Purist was silenced as Harry drove the knife in between his ribs, collapsing his lungs.

His fellow spun in surprise, only to find Harry's wand leveled at his face. '_Punctum carnem' _and a small spurt of blood onto his hand, and the man crumpled.

Harry caught him with a quick charm, and dragged both bodies over to the hedges. He pulled out his dagger and wiped it off on the Purists robe.

Around the corner of the manor was one of the backdoors. Harry felt three men inside this time, all clustered around a table. Casting a quick silencing charm on the hinges, he pushed the door open and crouched as he moved into engagement range.

He smelled the gathering before he saw them, cheap fire whiskey and cigars. They were playing some card game, and all their attention was focused on the table.

'_Lann Fhada' _he cast the long cutting hex horizontally at neck height. The spell sailed through the unarmoured flesh, spraying blood around and sending their heads flying.

Satisfied, he made to leave the parlor when he felt something wrong. He snapped his head back and saw that a young woman staring at him, tucked up under the arm of the decapitated men, just low enough for his spell to have missed.

He sent another cutting curse at her, but it was too late.

"AHHH-" she let out a piercing scream before his spell silenced her.

_Fuck_

All around, he could feel the other Purists scramble up and towards the noise. _Guess I'll have to do this the hard way. _

There were 29 left, and his first goal was to stop them from sending up an alarm. He turned and ran down the hall, toward the only floo he could feel. Two were Purist burst into the hallway in front of him, wands raised.

"Avada Kedavra!" both shouted, and Harry rolled forward letting the spells just barely miss his him. He came up with a blasting hex hurled forward. The lead put up a shield that dampened the blast, but was still thrown back into his comrade.

One overpowered Argentum lancea shot through the pair. Harry summoned both bodies and hurled them behind him.

The hallway ended in massive ballroom with a makeshift stage on on side. 4 Purists were sprinting around, with one heading towards the floo.

'_Lumos maxima'_

Harry dimmed his vision magically. The whole room was plunged into darkness until the spell flared to life, illuminating the surprised Purists. He cast as quickly as he could, cutting hexs cleaving the men apart, and a fire spell turning one into a bonfire near the door.

As he sprinted, he felt the rest of the Purists head towards the main ballroom. He let the spell on his eyes fade as he pulled out a potion grenade, activated it and dropped it on the floor behind him.

8 seconds.

A swarm of Purists entered the ballroom from different doorways, and cast dark spells at his back "He's running for it!" one screamed.

5 seconds. The door to the floo shattered with a banishing curse, and Harry spun as a purple hex tracked him in.

A blasting hex later, the floo was demolished. Another killing curse went wide behind him, hitting the door frame.

2 seconds, Harry swept his wand around and grabbed hold of the hardwood floor, pulling it and the Purists standing on it closer to the grenade.

Just as the alchemical reaction reached its full potential, Harry apparated straight up, chafing at the wards that tried to stop him.

He landed on the roof to the sound of colossal explosion ripping through the strengthened building. The whole manor shook and the air temperature dropped drastically.

Harry took a breath and reached his senses out. 12 Purists left.

Wait, another just died, probably from cold shock. 11.

He cast a disillusionment charm and levitated through one of the shattered windows. Frost coated the opulent bedroom he found himself in. Coming out into the hallway, he found the remaining Purists yelling at each other nearby.

"He's in the main hall, the main hall! Move to flanking positions!" one older man yelled "What the fuck was that spell?! It froze Reg's arm fucking solid!" another panicked.

They were all bunched up in a narrow hallway, and Harry tapped the wall, transfiguring the inside layer into a sheet of steel.

He crossed the corner and sent a concussive wave into the packed Purists. The first two were struck with such force they seemed to ripple as their bodies ruptured. The old man was able to put up a shield that saved the rest of the them, and they all followed his lead with shields pointing at him.

Exactly as he'd predicted.

Harry dodged a couple ill aimed curses and commanded the wall to shatter outwards. The steel on the inside fractured into sharped mini daggers that went into their unprotected flanks. 3 men died instantly, with the rest having the wood and steel shards lodged in their sides.

A few cutting curses saw to the rest, but he left the old man alone. Could be a good source of information.

But the coot saw what he was doing, and with surprising speed pushed his wand under his own chin, casting a hex that turned his face into a mist of blood and teeth.

_Should have disarmed him, Ah well, _Harry shook his head and summoned all of their wands.

One on the far end was still alive, albeit not for long. Harry rolled him over with the tip of his foot and saw a shard stuck in his throat.

He pulled the Purists hood down and saw a very young man with sandy hair and light freckles. He was still conscious, surprisingly, and his eyes were filled with a terror Harry was all too familiar with.

_He's so young, probably fresh out of Hogwarts… how much would he really be allowed to know? _Harry debated internally, going back and forth on the idea of crashing into his mind looking for more breadcrumbs to follow.

While he debated, the boy made the decision for him. His eyes glazed over and he stopped twitching.

That was troubling. When was the last time he had hesitated in pulling information out of an enemy, even a young one?

With a shake of his head Harry made his way through the frozen house, which was beginning to creak alarmingly. The only thing holding it up was the enchantments.

In the basement was a treasure trove of equipment. Brooms, potions, Purist robes, warding materials, all stacked to the ceiling, even a couple invisibility cloaks and a pensive. He grabbed those and stuffed them into his bag. If nothing else, they were worth a bit on the black market.

He looked over the brooms, feeling a pang of nostalgia. He hadn't needed one to fly in years, and as the War got darker there wasn't much of an appetite for Quidditch. On instinct, he grabbed a firebolt from the pile and put it in his bag.

_Be a shame to destroy it._ He rationalized. Backing up to the stairs, he took a breath. "Bli ångrad" he waved his wand around, sending a small red fire out of his wand and onto a broom. It instantly starting undoing the enchantments of flight and steering, causing the broom to buck and shoot around the room, spreading the fire.

It would seek out and destroy everything enchanted, leaving nothing but smoldering ruins in its wake.

Harry walked leisurely out of the estate as the red fire climbed the pillars ignoring the ice from his grenade.

As he apparated away, he thought about the operation. He hadn't felt the woman who gave him away due to her close proximity to the man she was with, and their cores seemed to merge from distance. Still, it was sloppy to assume the danger was done and turn away. But letting the boy die was annoying him. He was a reaper, and reaper took all equally. And what did it matter if the boy was young, everyone was going to die eventually!

He had been thinking too much and acting too little. The time for doubt was done. He had his mission, and nothing was going to distract him from it.

He was too wired to sleep. Perhaps one of the other merchants would be as fruitful as Mallard. Well, one could hope.

**Authors Note:**

**Alright. So, this is sort of establishing a baseline for how Harry operates. I will only show the important ones going forward, because it would get repetitive to show every Purist hideout getting wrecked. **

**Now, I would like to address a complaint several reviewers had with the last chapter, specifically how the parents were stupid to try and keep the kids from war. Now, I did want the reader to see that from Rose's perspective, but two things to remember. **

**1, they are 14-15, and untrained, and 2 they literally nearly got killed the previous night, so yeah the parents would try to keep them away from more danger.**

**Yes, it is naive to hope that they will never be involved, but is it so wrong for parents to want to protect their children? Even if they did train them, it takes a psychological toll to kill others and commit acts of violence, and Rose especially does not understand that. They are trying to protect their children, however illogical that is.**


	10. Buried Nightmares

Dorea jolted awake in her bed, a yell on her lips. She cast her head around, confused and scared. What was happening? Where was she?

After a moment she relaxed slightly, heart still pounding. She was in her dorm room in Hogwarts, with the green curtains spelled closed.

Over the last two weeks she'd been plagued by nightmares. It was lucky she always kept a silencing charm on here bed, or her dormmates would find out. The frustrating part was that while she knew the nightmares happened, she knew they scared her, but once she was awake the images slipped away.

All that was left was darkness, a crippling fear and blood and red flashing in pale light.

Dorea scrubbed her eyes and grabbed her wand "Tempus." she muttered, flicking her wand sharply. Glowing numbers appeared, 4:22am.

"Damnit." Dorea flopped back down onto her bed. _At least exams and classes are over. _She thought dryly. All the students were going home soon, and Dorea dreaded it. At least in Hogwarts the school was big enough to avoid direct contact with her mother, but at home she would be trapped. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. And if she displayed night terrors she had no doubt her mother would immediately lose her mind.

Grandfather would be there, but he was always so busy he barely had time for Dorea. He may have looked like her Papa, but he was much more distant. He would not be helpful when it came to strange nightmares.

She would have gone to Madam Pomfrey, but then again her mother would find out. After her excursion to Loc Muinne she had been docked 100 points and put in detention with professor Snape for the rest of school year.

The point loss would have fazed her if her House was even in spitting distance of winning the House Cup. Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup to the surprise of no one, what with both the Weasley and Potter twins playing, and Slytherin had gotten stomped. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were dueling for the House Cup, but there was still a battle in who was going to come last. It looked like Slytherin was a shoo in, but then the young Griffs proven just how stupid they were.

Dorea hadn't actually believed it when she'd heard that he and bunch of his sycophants had, on the basis of a vision, decided to sneak out of Hogwarts to the Ministry in the middle of the night. They were attacked by Purists, and were saved by some stranger.

The Prophet claimed he had duelled the Dark Lord, but Dorea had her doubts. If this man was powerful enough to stop an Archmage, where was he before? It was probably exacerbated to sell papers.

She would have to ask Grandfather about it. He would know, and he might be willing to discuss it. But after the incident, Gryffindor house had woken up to find their hourglass half as full as it had been when they went to sleep. They tried desperately to bring their numbers up, but unless the Headmaster pulled some real hippogriff shit and awarded them a few hundred points for no reason, they would be coming in a distant last.

The Golden boy was getting quiet the shellacking from his house which was amusing to watch. She didn't really feel sorry for them, as the grapevine gossiped that they were trying to save Mr. Potter and Uncle Sirius.

Two fully trained Aurors.

Honestly, why did any of them bother lugging their brains around when they never made use of them? Dorea shook her head and rolled over onto her side.

At least having them all in detention with her made Snape take his attention off her. She didn't have an antagonistic relationship with the group, and she'd take cousin Orion over Draco any day of the week, but they weren't close. They were all morons, though she graciously didn't bring up. Snape had that covered, and watching the Weasley's turn beet red at veiled insults nearly made scrubbing out cauldrons worth it.

But as amusing as it was to laugh at the macho idiocy of the fame hounds, there was something about the story that was familiar. When she saw the artists recreation of the stanger who had pulled their ass's out of the fire, she almost thought she recognized him. But of course, she couldn't say. But she remembered a feeling of… something. It was complex.

Her memories of Loc Muinne were tinted with the same strange feeling, like deja vu. Her occlumency normally helped with this sort of thing, but it felt like there was a constant fog and detachment from the end of her excursion.

It was getting concerning, and Dorea was at her wits end. She was out of time, and was honestly was nearly willing to let her mother ineptly baby her if it meant she could get through a night without screaming in terror.

But, she was going to go to the library directly after breakfast. Maybe she could figure this out on her own. And if she couldn't, she would at least know she had tried.

She rolled to her other side, determined to get at least a bit more rest before facing the day.

**oooOOOooo**

5 hours later, Dorea felt like shit. She had used most of her remaining makeup to cover the dark bruises under her eyes, and tried to avoid her mothers searching gaze at breakfast. It was a light atmosphere, with plenty of laughter and students planning to meet over the summer. Dorea had made light conversation with some of her friends, but she knew any plans to met up had to go through her mother.

Jonas Cedrin had looked over at her like he wanted to talk to her, but her mother glared at the boy and he had taken a sudden and overwhelming interest in his breakfast.

She had been too tired to feel much anger at her mother, it just burned like acid. Could she have nothing her mother didn't control?

Still, she sped through her meal and slipped off to the library as soon as she could. Being the last day, it was barren. A couple of sixth year Ravens were studying some arithmancy concept, and Madam Pince was buzzing around reshelving, and seemed almost sad that the students would be leaving. Almost.

Dorea ignored her and went to a table hidden in the back, and grabbed several books on magically curing nightmare. She mixed in several other books on magical illnesses and madness. If anyone asked, she would claim a sudden interest in mind healing.

As she read though, she quickly found that magic that affected the mind was delicate. Dreams themselves were the process of the brain taking all the bits and scraps from recent memory and trying to make sense of them. There were spells to repress any dreams, but they were not included in the books due to a danger of brain damage if they were overused or applied without care.

So that was annoying. There would be no easy fix to this.

Dorea wouldn't put it past someone cursing her, so she also looked into curses that caused nightmares. But they all described extremely clear and vivid nightmares. She found nothing on creating a sinking feeling of dread.

She looked into mental health disorders that included night terrors, and she did find out that panic attacks could cause similar circumstances, but if that was the case her occlumency should have been able to clear her thoughts.

It was frustrating finding nothing, and her mood got worse when she heard a muffled exclamation from behind one of the bookshelves "What!? That makes no sense!" Dorea groaned when she recognized Grangers annoying squeal.

It wasn't that she thought muggleborns were inherently bad, the trouble was when they arrogantly believed that Wizarding culture was something to be 'fixed'. Granger and her ilk had no respect for the system, only seeing the minor flaws and declaring the whole thing worthless. Sure, there was room for improvement, but it had to come from within.

As Dorea saw it, Granger was the entitled one, expecting the world to bend to her will.

But she was able to keep it together around the girl. Last year, when her Mother had gone particularly far over the line, Dorea had protested by hanging out with Orion for nearly a month, even eating at Gryffindor table. During that time, she had been forced to be at least civil with his circle of friends. The Weasleys still didn't like her that much, but they could coexist easily enough, and all the suffering was worth it to see the affronted expression on her Mother's face seeing her daughter in a sea of red.

"But, but...this violates Marius's third law! And how does it fit into the UCS framework?" Granger pondered aloud, and Dorea considered slamming her head into the table. _What an inconsiderate bitch! _

Hearing her continue to yammer on, Dorea considered just putting up a silencing ward. But Pince hated them, and she really didn't want to get kicked out. Besides, she was curious to see what had flummoxed Granger, if only for blackmail purposes.

Dorea rose from her table and silently made her way around the bookshelves. Granger was surrounded by books on transfiguration, and had her head forcibly buried in one of them, muttering angrily.

"Pardon me, but could you keep it down?" she said quietly, and Granger started and turned to look at her with wide eyes.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't think anyone else was here!" she said. Dorea tried to adopt a curious look as she picked up one of the books. It was a NEWT level text, and she raised her eyebrows. "What are you looking at that got you so worked up?" she asked.

Granger sighed heavily, staring down at the piece of paper she had been reading "I'm reading a piece that total invalidates most transfiguration theory I've been taught!" She explained sharply, shoving the thin bound book at Dorea.

"Who is Bartlebees?" She asked curiously.

Granger threw her hands up "I don't know! This is supposedly his 5th work, but its all I could find! And I can see why, if he was right than it would turn all of magical theory upside down!"

Dorea looked down and read the page. "Long range manipulation of previous established spell matter is a matter of imprint, wherein a wizard suitable sensitive to magical currents can expend his consciousness without use of intermediary magical additional."

She hated to admit it, but she didn't get it. She gave Granger a look, and the older girl elaborated "He's arguing that a mage doesn't need to cast a spell after the initial one to change it substantially. Like, according to him if you cast a spell to turn a toothpick into a pin, you could keep changing it later with only that initial spell. The only trouble is that violates all the rules we've been taught!"

"Well, maybe it is true, but it could be that it's not taught to students for a reason." Dorea reasoned "This sounds a bit like direct rune manipulation, but students aren't even told about it until after they pass their NEWTs because if its done wrong it could kill them. Could be this is the same sort of thing." she said with a shrug.

"Or if you can't find anything else about this, maybe this one scholar is wrong?" she suggested, handing the book back to Granger.

"I would be inclined to believe that if I hadn't seen it for myself." Granger groused, and Dorea perked up. This was more interesting than she first thought. She loved a good mystery.

"What, did the Headmaster do it? Or Professor McGonagall?" Dorea asked casually, picking up another one of the and flipping to a bookmarked section.

Granger opened her mouth, then shut it with an audible snap. She looked at Dorea searchingly. The teenager put on her best 'innocent' smile. It was cute, she had already spilled enough for Dorea to piece it together if she wanted. Whoever had demonstrated it was someone she wanted to keep secret. Only one candidate came to mind.

"I've said enough. I'll let you get back to your studies." Granger declared primily, as though she could dismiss Dorea.

"Oh, of course. I understand if you don't want to talk about him. You do owe him a great deal for saving you after all." Dorea said sweetly. Granger stilled, than whipped her head around.

"I have no idea what you mean." Hermione said, her eyes flicking around. Dorea rolled her eyes. "Don't play dumb Granger, you're no good at it." she said, and the older teen puffed up indignantly.

"The only weird thing that happened to you recently was the stranger saving you in the Department of Mysteries, and if the Prophet is to be believed he's more than powerful enough to perform this. Not exactly going to stump me, don't you agree?" Dorea said, watching as Granger got red in the face.

The muggleborn was getting angry, but she was at least smart enough not to try and throw her prefect status around. "So, you're just fishing for information for your Grandfather?" she guessed sharply, anger shining through her eyes.

Dorea laughed mockingly "Come now Granger, do you think my Grandfather relies on me for his information gathering? I'm rather obvious for a spy. Besides, do you really think that he doesn't have access to the official report, which includes memories from your friend?" she chided, and watched as Granger got embarrassed.

Granger bit her lip, and looked around as if she expected someone to burst out and call her a traitor for consorting with a snake. But no one was present, and the Prefects face softened. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you… but it has to stay between us." Granger ordered, and Dorea internally smirked.

On the outside she nodded vigorously, and put on what she hoped was an expression of rapture. Granger leaned back. "During the first battle in the Death Chamber, before he fought the Dark Lord, the stranger cast a transfiguration spell on the stone of the benches above us. It, it formed the stone into large spikes that were propelled at the Purists. Later he just pointed his wand at the area, and without a second spell he manipulated the stone again. When I asked him about it, he was the one who recommended Bartlebees." Hermione explained in a rush.

Dorea opened her mouth to respond or ask something else, but suddenly there was a pounding pain between her eyes.

She could see blurry images, too fast and too slow at the same time. She saw a figure in crimson robes speared from above, a faint figure casting, blood flying in magelight. She couldn't move, she couldn't run!

An unfamiliar voice echoed through the recesses of her mind.

"_Don't worry. This will cause no lasting damage." _

Dorea was shaken out of her vision when a couple hands grabbed her shoulder. "...rea, Dorea!" she shook herself, and her vision cleared. Grangers face was directly in front of hers, eyes wide and scared.

Dorea was shaking slightly, her heart was pounding in her chest. "What, what just happened?" Dorea asked shakily, looking around. Her heart was pounding, and she was sure something wanted to kill her, and it was close.

"Dorea, you have to breath! Just in and out." Granger said softly, and took deep breaths to model. Dorea gulped in a breath, still wanting to run, too hide and never come out.

"In and out. In and out. In and out. That's it, you're doing great." Granger soothed, and Dorea slowly came down. She gulped slightly, and Granger conjuried a glass of water for her.

She must have scared her, because drinks were definitely not allowed in the library. Dorea didn't care, and chugged down the cold liquid. Granger stroked her shoulder, and had an almost maternal look on her face, and Dorea was strangely grateful.

"Are you okay?" Granger asked quietly, and Dorea shook her head "I don't know. I just… it was like a nightmare, but it felt so real!" Dorea said, her voice getting louder, and Granger rubbed her shoulder.

Slytherin shook her head, and looked up at Granger. "What did you see?" "I was talking, than suddenly you went pale and seemed to be looking at something. Than you started whispering you didn't want to die, and there was some parseltongue in there as well. You looked really scared, and you were out of it for nearly a minute. I nearly ran off to find Madam Pince." Granger explained.

Granger pursed her lips again "I think you should go to the hospital wing." she said cautiously, and Dorea shook her head. After this, she doubted Granger would leave her alone. But going to Pomphrey would mean enduring her Mother sooner that expected. "No. Well, not yet. Lets see if we can figure it out what happened on our own. I was looking into nightmares anyway." she said, and Granger didn't seem happy with it.

But she nodded anyway. If there was one thing near and dear to Grangers heart, it was research.

**oooOOOooo**

Minerva was in her office, working through the last bit of paperwork before the end of the school year, and setting all her records in order before she left.

Even with all the students gone, the work would remain. Albus often left mundane matters of running the school to her, more concerned with the big picture or handling the board of governors, not to mention the rest of his duties.

It was a yearlong job, and things weren't helped by adding on Order duties. She had been sliding in that regard, but with the Battle of the DOM so close, they needed to be ready for whatever happened next.

She was pulled from her work by a hurried knock on the door.

"Enter." she called primly, hoping it was some minor issue, or perhaps a seventh year student coming by for one last chat. It was always heartwarming when one of her students spoke to her one last time. It made all the other headaches of teaching worth it.

Instead, Hermione pushed into her office. That was fine. She knew the girl was looking into transfiguration theory far beyond her level, she might be confused.

But before she could relax, another figure came through the door. Dorea Slytherin, looking pale as a ghost.

What were these two doing together? The girl was a decent student, if somewhat entitled, but the animosity between her and Bellatrix meant the two rarely spoke. Perhaps the girl had gotten in trouble, and Hermione had caught her?

Minerva looked at the duo carefully, and concluded that wasn't the case. The body language of the two was tense, but not at each other. She even noticed Dorea leaning slightly into Hermione, as though she needed the stability.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Profesor, but we need your help." Hermione declared confidently. Minerva raised an eyebrow. "We think Dorea might have been obliviated." she said, barely containing her righteous anger.

A chill went down Minerva's spine and her expression twisted. In her tenure, she had seen too many young women standing before her, or Pomphrey, or Albus, all sporting the same look. It was rarely talked about, but every couple of years a young wizard was rejected, or became obsessed with a fellow student. They would force the issue, and often if they were successful they would ineptly obliviate the victim. It made her blood boil, but depending on the status of the attakter they could get out of any real consequences.

Normally she disliked Bellatrix's style, but if Dorea had been assaulted she'd be willing to make an exception.

"This is a serious matter, Ms. Slytherin. I should contact your mother-" Dorea shook her head sharply "Please, Professor. If this is nothing, I don't want her losing her mind. Your the only teacher I know doesn't report everything on me to her." the girl said, looking at the floor, and Minerva softened slightly "As you wish Miss Slytherin. But if you have been obliviated, I will need to inform her, as well as the Headmaster and any relevant authorities." she explained, and Dorea nodded.

She rose from her seat and motioned them to sit down with her. Better not to have a desk between them for this. "Ms. Granger, I must insist that everything you have learned or will be party to today be kept in total confidence, otherwise I will have to ask that you leave."

Hermione nodded, scooting closer to Dorea in her chair. Minerva clasped her hands together, and tried to keep her expression open. This was hard enough to talk about. "Dorea, may I call you Dorea?" Minerva asked kindly, and the girl nodded. "Dorea, I need to know everything, so please start from the beginning."

Dorea took a deep breath "Over the last few weeks, I've had terrible nightmares, but no memory of what happened in them. Just a sense of fear and terror. In the library an hour ago, I was talking to Granger about transfiguration, and she told me something that… well, it triggered a memory. I saw blood and violence, and when we were reading I realized that some of my memories felt off."

When I was in the tunnels under Loc Muinne, there's a moment when the memories shift from being normal to being distant, like I'm watching it happen to me rather than experiencing it. Than, I can't for the life of me remember activating the Portkey to come home. Oh, and I thought I recognized the stranger in the papers, the one who saved Neville." she said glumly, and Minerva was thrown through a loop.

She had heard from Sirius that odd rumors were flying around Dorea's trip to Loc Muinne, but none of them guessed the girl had been party to whatever happened. "Well, it does sounds like a deficient obliviation, but there is only one way to tell. But, it will mean I will see the memory as well. Is that alright?" Minerva asked kindly, and she saw Dorea hesitate.

After a pregnant pause, the girl nodded hesitantly. "Will it hurt?" she asked, a little timid. Minerva pursed her lips. "I don't know. You will experience the memory over, but if there was a great deal of pain it might bleed through. But, I will shield you from the worst of it." she tried to reassure the girl.

Dorea nodded once, and Minerva looked over to Hermione "Miss. Granger, please keep an eye out. If anything happens, contact the Headmaster first, than Madam Pomfrey." she ordered seriously, and internally felt proud when her lion nodded with a determined look.

"Close your eyes Dorea." she asked, and lifted her wand "Memoriam redire" she cast with a figure eight motion. The blue spell hit the young girls forehead, and it felt like she was being sucked along with it.

Images flashed before them. It was far less controlled than a pensive, and Minerva was hit with the raw emotion. But eventually the maelstrom passed, and she was left experiencing things from Dorea's perspective. She saw through her eyes as she explored the derelict tunnels under Loc Muinne, and then started when the Stranger came out of the shadows and disarmed her.

"Young lady, this is a class 2 protected site. What exactly do you think you're doing here?" he asked with a tone she used constantly. Dorea shouted at him, but he was unfazed at all. There was amusement in it, but most surprisingly he didn't recognize Dorea on sight. Or if he did, he was doing a good job hiding it.

If Moody was right, this face was a glamour. But he had the same gait, the same voice, and a similar dry tone. He even used the same technique of allowing Dorea to project her own assumption on him, not giving anything away but making her think he was a ministry employee. She listened to their brief talk, and felt a bit of anger at the man for daring to impune Hogwarts curriculum. Though it did confirm he had a connection with the school.

Than the Blood Purists arrived, and Minerva suddenly knew what would happen. _Well, that would explain why she saw blood, and why mention of those spikes would trigger her memories._

Still, she watched as the man sprinted through the dark tunnels, and was surprised when Dorea tried to protect him. Perhaps her lions had rubbed off on the girl more than she thought? But the Stranger ignored it, and instead hid her on the ceiling. When the Purists entered, Minerva braced herself for the violence.

"And here I was thinking you didn't have a pleasant side, Yaxley." the Stranger commented, and Minerva was surprised again. He knew the man by voice alone? Interesting.

The outbreak of violence was exactly as brutal and blood as she expected. He did take Yaxley alive, but still destroyed his wand and hand in the process. Then came the most destabilizing reveal.

Dorea had a bad habit of hissing under her breath in Parseltongue, and she suspected it was swear words or unflattering comparisons. Even in the memory, Minerva still didn't understand it, but the Stranger apparently did, and responded in kind. He quickly realized his mistake, but he couldn't take it back.

_Wait, what? And who is this 'Mad-Eye' he mentioned? _

Than, additional mysteries piled up. He seemed shocked at the existence of Lord Slytherin, and his entire family. She also detected a slight twitch when Bellatrix's name was brought up, but how did he not know she had married into the Slytherin family?

She watched in a daze as the man relaxed, though she did note that he referred to both Albus and Lord Slytherin in oddly familiar terms, going so far as calling a Lord 'Tommy-boy'. With a feeling like being slurped through a straw, Minerva was sent hurling back to her body as the memory ended.

She blinked rapidly, the real world coming back in clarity. In front of her Dorea looked incredibly shocked "By Merlin." the girl muttered, and Minerva silently agreed. Hermione looked between them confused. "Professor, are you okay?" she asked when she remained silent.

"Yes, just shocked Miss Granger." she said to reassure the girl. "We should contact my Grandfather." Dorea finally spoke, her voice shaken. Hermione's head whipped between them.

Minerva pursed her lips "Yes. But not just him. We need to contact everyone." she said seriously.

**oooOOOooo**

Bellatrix was sitting in the Headmasters office, utterly stunned after seeing her daughters memory. Currently, Potter and Siri were watching it in the pensive while they waited for Lord Slytherin to arrive. Dumbles was thankfully silent, as was the cat-bitch sitting on the other side of her daughter.

Bellatrix was moving between worry and rage over the incident. When she had been called into the Headmasters office and seen Dorea, she had geared up for an argument. Even if Dorea did something wrong, McGonagall would eat shit if she fucked with her daughter.

Instead, the story they told her gave her whiplash. Dorea had been obliviated. By the same man who had fought at the DOM. After he rescued her from Blood Purists. And he was a parseltongue. What. The. Fuck.

Bellatrix had seen the memory, and her hair was greyer for it. She was torn between wanting to kiss the stranger for saving Dorea and crushing his skull for daring to obliviate her. She was sitting as close to her daughter as she could, and it was a testament to how out of it the girl was that she wasn't protesting.

It hurt a bit that Dorea had gone to McGonagall rather than her, but she put it aside. Her baby was hurting and if she could do anything to help she would. Potter and Sirius were both involved in the official investigation into the stranger, and she doubted they were going to like this. Both men probably saw Parseltongue as the mark of a Dark wizard.

Speaking of which, the fireplace lit up and out stepped Lord Slytherin. He was dressed in fine black robes, his face handsome and intimidating in equal measure.

As a sign of respect, she stood quickly, and he waved his hand at her. Dumbles tensed up slightly, a shadow entering his gaze. "Hello Tom." he said, strictly neutral.

The two men had been political opponents ever since Lord Slytherin had been granted his title. It was an open secret that Lord Slytherin was vying to be Supreme Mugwump, and once the old man was dead his coalition would fall apart.

But fate had forced the two men into an uneasy alliance, but things were still frosty.

"Good day Albus. Now, I understand there was an issue involving my Granddaughter?" He asked, eyes locking on Dorea. She gave him a shaky smile, but honestly it wasn't fooling any of them.

At the moment, the idiots pulled their head out of the pensive "Merlin's Beard!" yelled Siri, and Bellatrix rolled her eyes. Potter looked stunned silent.

"Articulate as ever Auror Black." Lord Slytherin said dryly, and both DLME officer shot him suspicious looks. It was doubtless they though the Stranger was somehow connected to them. Before it could go any further, Dumbles stood. "Indeed. It appears the Stranger working to save Hogwarts students is not isolated to just the Ministry." he said obliquely.

"Well than, perhaps I should see the memory personally?" the Lord said calmly. Dumbles smiled, through it didn't quite reach his eyes. Lord Slytherin took a seat near the desk, and both Archmages dipped their faces into the pensive.

Dumbles was probably watching his counterparts reactions.

A heavy silence fell over the room.

"Have there been any new developments?" she asked in as normal a tone as she could muster and Sirius jolted as if he'd forgotten she was there. What with everything that happened recently her information was out of date. He cast a look at Potter, who nodded slightly. Dorea was giving her an odd look, but Bellatrix ignored it.

"Well, someone is attacking the Purists. There was a warehouse just outside London that burned down via magical means a few days ago. Than, an estate in Scotland was found… well, frozen solid with a half dozen Purists trapped inside. Also, apparently there was raid on a manor in France that matches the Strangers style. We sent a team over to look into it, but underworld rumor is the Dark Lords hopping mad over the whole thing, and is blaming the Stranger for all of it." Sirius explained.

Bellatrix leaned back, thinking. "Speaking of which, turned anything on him?"

Potter was the one who answered "Nothing. No one international claims to know anything about him, even the independent Hit-Wizards don't know anything. Its as if he didn't exist until a couple months ago." he said with an annoyed grimace.

"What about… oh what's that muggle term you use? For figuring out his mind?" Bellatrix asked, trying to keep the scorn from her voice. Either she was successful or Potter was in a more forgiving mood than usual because he answered without any attitude "Psychological profile. And those take time. So far we don't have much to work with, and most of it can't be sustained. Current theory is he fought something like a war, he knows enough tactics to handle a group, but seems to prefer to work alone, and he is very protective of children as we saw from Loc Muinne."

"You think he's tracking them? I mean, he intercepted both Dorea and the golden boy when the rest of us were in the dark." Bellatrix theorized.

The cat bitch decided to cut in "I find that unlikely. More likely he was tracking the Purists and stumbled onto the students." Dorea bit her lip like she wanted to say something. "What is it pup?" Sirius asked, and Bellatrix spared a glare for the condescending nickname.

"It's just… I don't know. I got the sense that he really didn't want me to see him fight. Surely if he knew the Purists were there, he would have dealt with them away from me." her daughter reasoned. Potter nodded slightly "Maybe, but perhaps he was racing to get to you before they did. Afterall, what else could he be doing there? There's nothing else there."

Everyone slid back into silence, but Dorea kept biting her lip. "Mother, what did you think of his dueling style? I've never seen anything like it." she asked, and Bellatrix had to suppress a smile. This was the nicest conversation they'd had in months, and she was asking for her opinion too!

Bellatrix thought about it for a moment, synthesizing what she knew. "Well, if I had to describe it one sentence, I'd say he fights like a dark wizard using only light spells." Everyone present shifted to look at her, questions in their eyes. She was an expert on dark magic dueling, which thrilled the Griffs to no end.

"The main goal of Dark magic is not usually to be cruel, but rather to end the fight as quickly possible, typically by killing or maiming one's opponent. The Stranger seems to subscribe to that philosophy, but he uses none of the typical spells. Instead, he uses primarily transfiguration which additionally has a much higher skill ceiling." She noted, trying not to give the cat bitch any reason to be smug.

Dorea nodded, but the Aurors frowned "It might be too soon to say if he's not a dark mage. He used a strange spell under Loc Muinne, the one that… well, you know." Potter said, trailing off with a glance at Dorea.

Bellatrix felt like growling. He was referring to the decapitation "I'm not familiar with that spell. Since he didn't use the incantation, it'll be difficult to identify. But, even if it is dark, that's just one spell." Bellatrix argued. The Aurors and the cat seemed to be gearing up for an argument, but they were silenced when the two archmages sat back up.

Both men were tense. Lord Slytherin looked over to Dorea and gave her a small smile "Are you alright my dear?" he asked in a kind voice, and Dorea gave him a nod with just the barest hint of tremor.

"Well Tom, you seem to have developed a theory about the Stranger?" said Albus, settling in behind his desk. There was a mild tension in his voice. He was probably annoyed Lord Slytherin hadn't run it by him first.

Lord Slytherin remained standing, a bare smile on his face. "Why yes. I think he's from an alternate reality." he said simply, and it threw Bellatrix through a loop. Dumbledore looked contemplative, Minerva looked doubtful and the idiots looked just confused.

"What?" Sirius said dumbly. Lord Slytherin arched an eyebrow "In brief, there is a theory that our reality, our universe, exists at the same time as every other possible universe. Mages first came up with it back in the 5 century, and there have been scattered reports of individuals crossing the boundaries into other realities. In my opinion, this solves all the main questions we have: our earliest record of him is saving Dorea, and to my eye he was weakened and wounded. Since then, he has been rather active. It explains the gaps in his knowledge. It is possible his version of me never took the Slytherin mantel, or that Dorea wasn't born. It would also explain what he was doing at Loc Muinne." he declared.

Now all of them were confused, until Dumbles eyes lit up. "The Registry." he whispered and it clicked into place for Bellatrix. "If he was trying to get a sense for who was alive, it would give him a rough overview of at least the purebloods, and its unsecured." she said excitedly.

"It would also explain why he's so set against the Purists, if in his world he fought them or a similar group. Additionally, he might have known our alternate versions, and have a desire to protect us as a result. Take that he knew young Longbottom and friends were lured out with false information, when realistically he had no way of knowing that. Something similar might have happened in his world." he argued smoothly.

Minerva didn't look convinced, and protested "That theory might fit, but it's damn near impossible to prove! Currently all we have is conjecture."

Lord Slytherin gave her a somewhat mocking smile "Currently."

"In theory, any transition between realities would require immense magical energy, and likely cause micro-ruptures in space time around the area. I propose we perform an Alltativane ritual to detect any such sites in the isles." Lord Slytherin declared grandly.

Dumbles leaned back in his chair, a competitive look on his face. "Interesting proposal. It will take time to set up such a large ritual, and we would need 7 strong wizards for it to be successful. But, I see no reason why we wouldn't. Even if it disproves your theory, we lose nothing but time by doing it." he said, as though he had any power to stop Lord Slytherin from doing it of his own power.

Still, the Lord nodded gratefully. "I'll begin preparations. I think the ritual circle in Chanctonbury will do nicely. I'll read the signs, and figure out a date. Obviously I will take part, and I would ask you to join in as will Bellatrix. If you could find the rest of the mages Albus, I would be grateful." he said, clearly throwing a bone to the old man to give him the illusion of control.

Bellatrix sighed as the meeting was wrapped up. It had gone so long, they were in danger of missing the farewell feast. But she still needed to talk to Lord Slytherin, alone. Dorea seemed eager to speak to him as well, and the trio slipped out of the Headmasters office down the hall. Lord Slytherin cast a powerful privacy spell before turning to his family.

Dorea spoke up first "Grandfather, do you think, well, do you think he could be another version of papa?" she asked hurriedly, not able to disguise the hope in her voice. Bellatrix flinched at it. In truth, she hadn't considered it. Hadn't wanted to consider it. There was a resemblance to her late husband, in the tone and the way the Stranger held himself.

As much as she hated to admit it, she felt hope blooming in her chest. Lord Slytherin sighed heavily "It's possible, but you must remember he is just a version of someone you may or may not know. I doubt he is a version of my son, due to his obvious scorn for me. But, we must be ready for some sort of connection, as parseltongue is a rare power. Also, it may prove necessary to keep him away from Dumbledore, as I doubt he will let his true power flourish." he said, his eyes communicating a great deal. If the Stranger was one of them, Bellatrix had no doubt Lord Slytherin would go to great lengths to protect him.

"Why do you think he hasn't contacted us yet?" Bellatrix asked. "Perhaps the actions of our counterparts soured his view of us. If that is the case, we must be careful and understanding to avoid any conflict. And, perhaps he doesn't wish to involve us too deeply in his fight. I get the feeling he had been alone for a long time. He might have convinced himself it's better that way." Lord Slytherin said simply.

Bellatrix wasn't convinced "My Lord, are you sure it's a good idea to try and bring him into the fold? He might be dangerous to use." she questioned, remembering the callous way he obviated Dorea.

Lord Slytherin nodded "It is a risk, I grant you. But his power and combat experience is unparalleled, even among us. And if we do not protect him, who will? The Ministry has already declared him a murderer, and I doubt Albus is willing to bend his beliefs and work with the man. I have no doubt this war is going to be long and bloody, and a soldier of his mettle will be most valuable." he explained, but Bellatrix got the feeling he was still holding back.

_Whatever it is, he must have his reasons. _

"Grandfather, I'm sorry I didn't go to either of you with this. If I had-" "It's alright Dorea. There was no way you could know." Lord Slytherin soothed, cutting her off. "Now, both of you need to get to the feast before your absence is noticed. We will speak more when you get home." He dismissed them, sweeping away. Bellatrix looked over to her daughter, and could see the guilt in her face.

"No one blames you Dorea. Though in future, I hope you'll come to me." she said, and could see her daughters hackles rise. Bellatrix forestalled her angry response, raising her hands in surrender "I know, I know. Look, we don't have time to argue about this right now. I'm just bringing it up so we can discuss it later." Dorea looked ready to argue anyway, biting the inside of her cheek, but her stomach growled, and the tension bled out of her stance.

"Fine. Lets just go." Dorea said, trying to imitate her grandfathers sweeping exit with mixed results. Bellatrix followed with a slight grin on her face at her daughter antics.

**Authors Notes:**

**Ugh. This chapter was really hard to write for some reason, and it was subject to a couple rewrites, hence the longer than usual time between uploads. Leave a review if you like. Also, keep in mind that I do not agree with Dorea's perspective on Muggleborn, and that will come up later on in the story. As always if you see any mistakes please point them out specifically so I can edit them!**


	11. Tying the Noose

**Authors Note: **

**This chapter is mostly investigation, and contains yet more POVs.**

Augustus Rookwood would never admit to being afraid, but internally he was terrified.

The Stranger had hit them again last night. After the destruction of the French manor, he had begun a sharp campaign, mostly targeting their many storehouses and safehouses. So far, he had cost them dearly in potions, armor, and general supplies, and killed at least 40 brothers in arms. Rookwood looked around the burned out husk of what yesterday had been the main store of illegal portkeys.

The magical fire had destroyed almost all the evidence. At least this place was far enough out of the way that the ministry hadn't found it before they could investigate.

Not that it was helping them. He had found nothing new. Just more mangled corpses, and some transfigured weapons that survived the blaze.

Rookwood had to admit the Stranger was good. He knew just where to hurt them, quickly eroding their ability to fight.

The former unspeakable picked his way through the burned ruins aimlessly. He found a few chunks of stone, carbonized bones, the rough shine of metal. Rookwood was killing time, trying to put off his report to the Dark Lord. However, as dawn began to break over the trees, he knew his time had come.

Death was unlikely, but pain was almost certain. The Dark Lord did not look well on failure.

Rookwood apparated away to the new headquarters in a magically expanded cave in Wales.

"Halt!" a voice cried from the underbrush, and Rookwood slowly raised his hands. He could barely make out a dozen or so dark shapes in the magical mist, all with their wands on him. The wards were designed to force entry at only this point. From behind him, a figure crept out and relieved him of his wand, than he felt flurry of detection spells on him. After a moment, the men around him relaxed.

"He's clean! Let him through."

Rookwood was handed back his wand and slipped between the team. The stranger had forced them to increase their security dramatically. He had a fondness for sneaking past their wards in disguise before sowing chaos.

Inside the base Purists were racing around, moving supplies. The had been forced to to pick up and move all their stores, and after two years of work, it was a substianal challenge. Rookwood slipped through the milling ranks, trying to steady his breathing. At the end of a long hallway was the Dark Lords chamber.

As always the magical shadows crept out around the hallway signalling the Dark Lord's presence. Before he could knock, the door was flung open and Rookwood was pulled into the deep shadows of the room. "You are late!" his Lord roared, anger obvious.

"Apologizes my Lord, I-" he was cut off by a heavy pressure on this throat, choking the noise from him. "I have no time for your pathetic excuses. Report." he growled, releasing the pressure after a moment.

Rookwood coughed, but spoke quickly "He must have infiltrated the safehouse via the warding. We have yet to find the ward keeper, but assumedly she is dead like the others. No other evidence was at the scene." he said shakily. The shadows swirled angrily around him.

"And the Ministry?" his Lord asked tightly, and Rookwood gulped. He ran a small but effective network of spies, and had been milking them for everything they knew about the Stranger. "They have nothing. No international traces, no one taking credit for his actions. They are in the same position we are." he said, and braced himself.

"Disappointment." the Dark Lord hissed. His wand shot up.

Rookwood tried not to whimper, but the curse never came. When the Dark Lord spoke again, it was a different tone of voice. "Do they know how he got into the Ministry?"

Rookwood cracked open his eye, and saw the Dark Lord standing in front of him, wand still raised. "I, I, -they think that he entered the same way we entered. Through the Atrium." he said hurriedly, mind racing. Where was his Lord going with this?

"He didn't. I was keeping careful watch on the Atrium wards from outside. Which means he must have come from inside the Ministry."

Rookwoods fear faded away as his mind raced "Well, he can't have waited inside. He'd have been discovered and tracked, and he didn't break the wards. Unless…" he muttered, trying to recall a distant briefing.

The Dark Lord leaned forward, clearly waiting for him to finish "A few years ago we were briefed on a potential security flaw. A part of the Muggle underground train system came dangerously close to the wall of the Ministry. But, no one cared because it only breached into a public wing of the records department, and it would require a great deal of skill to do anyway."

"But Croaker was worried that once inside they might be able to break into the secure auror lockup. Bones dismissed it, but if the Stranger knew about it…" he trailed off.

"Show me." The Dark Lord commanded eagerly.

Rookwood barely noticed as he flung himself down the corridors and into the morning light. He apparated as quickly as he could into the massive network of tunnels underneath London. He cast a quick Lumos.

Rookwood walked quickly through the darkness of the muggle tunnels, absently vanishing the cobwebs and dust in front of him. The sharp brickwork jutted out and Rookwood wondered at how the muggles managed to do anything, what with how sloppy this was. Behind him, he couldn't hear the Dark Lord, but still felt the weight of the shadows on his back.

Through the darkness a rattling, screeching noise came. Dust rained down on him and the whole assembly shook.

Underground trains! Honestly, these Muggles had no idea how absurd they were. It appeared a lack of magic had degraded their minds.

The spy shook his head and refocused on the task at hand. He felt when they crossed through the anti-muggle wards, the shudder of it. Next up, he saw where the brickwork crashed into the smooth magical stone that made up the Ministry's outer shell.

Rookwood shone his light onto the stone, and grinned underneath his hood when he saw a lopsided rune carved into the surface.

"So, this is where he came through." the Dark Lord said, a happy edge in his voice.

"I'll have a asset in the Auror department take a look around, see what he took." Rookwood said, only for the Dark Lord to laugh.

"Please. We already know everything they have written in there. This has a different value. Look at the rune closer." he commanded, and Rookwood did as he was told. He wasn't that good at runes and wards, and he saw nothing odd about it.

After a moment, the Dark Lord sighed in exasperation "Its incomplete you fool! That means he had to draw the other half of the rune on the inside. And that means…." "He had to enter the Ministry legally, and-" "Give his name."

Rookwood smiled. This was the first real lead they had gotten, and he had to make sure it wasn't squandered. "It's unlikely he gave his real name, but if he's used this name before it could give us more information."

"Indeed. Find the addresses of both of the front desk workers that night, they will have seen him enter." The Dark Lord ordered, and Rookwood nodded. "Do you wish me to interrogate them my Lord?" he asked.

"No."

The single word held a tight rage that made Rookwood shiver "I will handle this personally."

He almost felt sorry for the stranger. Almost.

**oooOOOooo**

Andrew Keen sighed as he finally sat down on his favorite chair in his London flat, cold butterbeer in hand. After the day he had, he'd earned it.

Andrew had never been a very motivated wizard. He was a mediocre student at Hogwarts, just barely squeaking through his NEWTs. After graduation, his job prospects had been dire. His family were Purebloods, but despite that they'd never had much luck in business.

He came from a long line of middling bureaucrats, always settling for working for the Ministry after their private ventures fizzled out. His father had gotten him a nothing job as a front desk clerk at the Ministry, weighing wands and handing out badges.

"It's a stepping stone, get a chance to network, what a crock of shite." he groused, gulping the butterbeer down. It was a dead end, and he had heard that his job was going to be phased out soon with the Aurors taking direct control over the front desk.

Technically he was part of the Ministry security forces, but in name only. He was a nobody, and would stay a nobody. But that was fine by him. As long as he kept his head down and did just enough to get by, he'd be fine. In his eyes, the extraordinary witches and wizards always seemed to suffer, to end up in battles or to have to work their fingers to the bone. Better to be unnoticed. But that had its own problems.

His day had been crap, what with the Aurors always looming over his shoulder and entitled nobodies taking it out on him for policies he had no control over! He wasn't even working in the Atrium anymore, due to the damage they had moved his desk up a level into a broom closet!

And he was right next to the toilets to boot! His whole office stunk, despite the copious air freshener charms he used.

Andrew blew out his cheeks and took a long draught of his butterbeer, trying to calm down. This was the only job he could get, unless he stooped to working for muggles, and it provided enough to live on and kept his father off his back. He would put up with it for as long as he could.

Andrew sat up to turn on the radio, only to blink in surprise. While he'd been lost in thought, his flat had grown dim, the lights barely visible in the evening shade.

A cold sweat broke out on his neck. He felt like something was watching him.

The bottle slipped from his fingers and shattered on the hardwood. Andrew barely noticed as he scrambled to grab his wand.

The shadows leapt off the ground and slammed into him, forcing the air from his lungs. His wand was pulled from his pocket, vanishing into the darkness. He tried to scream, but the noise just wouldn't come out.

He couldn't breath, his heart was hammering. He couldn't see, he couldn't-

"Socair" a strange distorted voice rang out, and a sense of all consuming calm settleted over him. His body involuntarily relaxed, all the fight leaving him.

"There there, that's better, isn't it? I apologize for the suddenness of my entry, but I need to ask you some questions." the voice echoed out, soothing and alarming in the same moment.

The pressure lifted slightly from his chest and Andrew choughed loudly. He was still pinned to his seat and he swiveled his head around to try and find the speaker.

"Who, who are you!?" he said, his voice strangely muffled, like he was screaming through a heavy storm.

"I have many names. Many titles for good and ill. But the only one that means anything to you is Dark Lord of the Blood Purists." the voice said, and from the shadows a figure emerged.

If he had the air in his lungs to scream, he would have. The Dark Lord towered over him, edges indistinct among the swirling mass of shadows, faceless cowl looming over him.

Even through the calming spell, he still managed to panic.

Andrew had never been too invested in the War between the Ministry and the Purists. His father had been vocally against them after the Sunday Massacre. But it had never seemed to matter that much. As long as Andrew wasn't impacted, he didn't really care who was in charge. He was a pureblood, so he figured he'd mostly be safe no matter what.

But he had never dreamed that the Dark Lord would appear in his sitting room, and one question dominated his mind. "Why?" he managed to choke out.

The Dark Lord laughed, their voice distorted unnaturally high and piercing. "You have seen something vastly important, though you may not know it. And so, I need it." the voice slipped around him, gentle and sharp.

What could he know? He was a nobody, by design! This wasn't supposed to happen to him! He knew nothing important, but if he didn't give the Dark Lord what he wanted, than who knows what he would do!

The Dark Lords wand was back up, and that voice that already haunted him whispered "Legimins" and Andrew was flung into his own mind. Flashes of memory played around him.

It felt like being underwater, too far away to see the light. And there was a shark under with him. He could feel the Dark Lords mind crashing around him, blowing through the thin wisps of memory, hunting for something.

Andrew was just along for the ride.

Most of the memories were involved with his job, focused on his last evening working in the Atrium. Images flashed past, his focus squarely on the people he signed in.

The flashes slowed as it neared the end of shift.

As the memory came in fully, Andrew was immersed in the moment. End of shift was so close he could taste it, but first he had to get through the final rush of the night shift. Most of them were employees who breezed straight through the routine check, but there was one, a man in boring brown robes with slightly ruddy skin and grey eyes.

The Dark Lord latched onto the man, forcing him to focus on his voice.

It was rough, but had a steel to it. He held himself with a calm confidence, an ease that passed by Andrew the first time.

The Dark Lord forced his attention downwards, onto the roll of names. The enchanted quill shot across the parchment, scrawling down the strangers name.

Some of the Dark Lord's hatred and vicious glee seeped out, tainting the memory. _I have you now Sebastian Grey, you arrogant bastard!_

With a feeling like apparition, Andrew was pulled back into the real world, just missing the popping sound.

He just lay there for a moment, trying to get the air back into his lungs. The shadows had backed off slightly, just enough that he could make out his ceiling.

"He used the name Sebastian Grey, and I got a look at him without his glamor. Looked like he was using muggle makeup rather than a magical disguise too, so that's another face to send around our contacts." The Dark Lord said distantly. Another voice responded "Are you sure it was him?" "Absolutely. His posture, his voice. Its him."

"What do we do with the boy?" the normal voice asked, and Andrews heart jumped up to his throat. "Oh, leave him to me." The distorted voice said, an edge in it that made Andrew thrash around.

Or try to anyway. He was still pressed into his chair, and was under the effect of the calming charm. The cushions barely moved as he tried to shift. "Avada Kedavra." and green light was the last thing he saw.

**oooOOOooo**

Rookwood started distastefully at Keens corpse, laying so peacefully, he looked asleep if wasn't for the terror frozen on his face.

In truth, it seemed unnecessary. The Keen family were nobodies, but they were still Purebloods.

But the Dark Lord offered no explanation, and Rookwood wasn't going to ask. Besides, he seemed more relaxed after the murder, and if that kept Rookwood from pain than the boy did not die in vain.

"Contact your sources at the Ministry. Pull everything you can on Grey, no matter what it takes." The Dark Lord commanded breezily, the shadows seeming to caress him. "Of course my Lord."

**oooOOOooo**

Rookwoods old friends in the records department had no trouble pulling what little there was on 'Grey'.

It was obviously all faked to his experienced eye. Only what absolutely needed to be present was there. People, even the most isolated and young, collected Ministry records just as byproducts of existing. Visas, permissions to take appiriation tests, taxes, minor complaints or brief mentions in numerous other documents. It was inevitable.

Grey had none of them. There was only so much backdating could do to disguise the fact that this individual didn't exist until a few months ago.

But he was on the official rolls, and there was only one person who could do that. The Forger.

He reported all he had found to his Lord, whos mood grew stormy at the mention of the man. He had tried to get the Forger on their side, or at least on their payroll. But the Underworld bosses didn't like the Purists butting in on one of their most prized possessions.

"Are you absolutely sure?" The Dark Lord asked seriously. "Because if we go in, it may cause problems with the rest of the black market. Much as I hate to admit it, we rely on them for much of our supplies."

Rookwood gulped silently "Yes my Lord. I've learned his style, his particular writing flair. Its him." "He may know nothing." The Dark Lord countered.

"I doubt that. If this man did any other business in the alley, he'll know about it. There are eyes everywhere, and the Forger always needs to know who he is dealing with. It's why he won't do any work for your forces." Rookwood argued, sweat beading on his brow.

Back when he had been an Unspeakable, there were certain times he had needed to work with the criminal underbelly of society. Money was the main language spoken, and greed was the byword. Sure, some had taken up the Blood Purist robes, but mostly just to take advantage and lay the blame onto them.

Rookwood remembered the dark times after Sunday, when everyone had turned on them. He had still been working at the Ministry before he was caught up in the sweep of the DOM and thrown into Azkaban.

Even criminals had families, and many had seen an opportunity to attack rich purebloods with repercussion. Purists had been killed in droves by the gangs and independent operators in Knockturn. They made money selling the Purists equipment, than siccing the aurors on them. The Purists were caught in a two front war, and it contributed to their defeat.

The Dark Lord had managed to negotiate a minor truce between the two groups, always with the threat of a new war in the dark alleys should the criminals decide to get uppity. In a straight up war, all knew they would be crushed by the Purists might. But for the moment, they were interdependent.

Going after the Forger would break that truce. Even speaking to him would result in retaliation. The Dark Lord sighed heavily and stood from his chair, the shadows parting enough for him to see the fireplace.

Rookwood decided to speak up "Its up to you my Lord. The question is, is Grey more dangerous than a gang war?" he hazarded, trying to keep his voice even.

The Dark Lord didn't react, just kept staring into the fire. Seconds stretched into minutes, and still nothing.

"Ah, to hell with it." the Dark Lord murmured so quietly Rookwood could barely make it out. "Pull all of our people out of Knockturn, and tell them to get ready for attacks. Put two teams on that brothel the gang leaders all meet at. If needed, we can show them our teeth." he ordered, all doubt gone from his voice.

Rookwood bowed, but the Dark Lords voice cut through "Pray that you are right Augustus. Because if the Forger knows nothing, I'll have to give the bosses someone to blame to avoid a war. And it will be you." he said softly, and Rookwood blanched.

"We all do what must my Lord. Good luck." Rookwood said, not quite keeping the fear out of his voice.

He left the room with his orders, trying not to imagine what sort of brutality he would suffer if this was a wild goose chase.

**oooOOOooo**

The Forger rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on the fake firewhiskey permit on the desk in front of him. It was making him thirsty, but he still had another meeting today, and who knew how many walk ins.

"Everything alright guv'ner?" the harsh brough of one of his babysitters broke in to his thoughts.

He repressed his annoyance at the man, who he thought was called Bruiser, as he was at least better the most of them.

In truth, his own identity was so secret even he didn't know it. Many years past, when he had first began working as a criminal, he had made the decision to obliviate himself almost totally, leaving only a note for the new version of himself.

He still wasn't sure exactly why the past version had taken such an extreme step, but he had decided to trust himself, and had never made an effort to undo the mind wipe.

Most of the brutes guarding him didn't know that, and he was in no hurry to tell them. They came and went as different 'jobs' or spending time in prison drew them off. He didn't bother trying to learn much about them.

"Yes, just the new seal on the brewery permit is frustrating to draw." he said to the man, still hidden under an invisibility cloak. Bruiser didn't respond, and the Forger redoubled his efforts.

His windows were showing a mist covered forest, with dark shapes loping about just out of sight. It put him on edge, but that was probably a good thing what with recent events.

The Purists were getting desperate to find Grey, and he knew eventually they would darken his door. It was only a matter of time. As such his guard had been increased to 6 of the best killers Knockturn had to offer.

He was pulled from his work by a cool breeze ruffling the papers on his desk. His head snapped around, feeling Bruiser on his left side tense up.

His eyes tracked back and forth around, goosebumps rising on his skin. He never really felt alone, but now he could feel an additional presence.

He slowly set his quill down, and reached over to grab a small tin of mints on his desk, signalling his guards to get him out of here with all haste. Right on cue, Bruiser leapt forward and threw his invisibility cloak over the Forger. He let the huge burly wizard pull him aside at the rest of his guard began firing spells wildly around.

Even as he was bundled up, he spotted the shadows growing forward. Dark spells sprang forth, and one of his guards let out an anguished scream.

Bruiser carried tossed him to another guard still under his cloak and turned to cast at the encroaching darkness. A heartbeat later he felt like someone had thrown a bucket of hot paint on his back, soaking into his cloak. He just twisted his head around to see Bruisers legs collapse to the ground.

It seemed his top half was now coating his back.

While he was distracted, the other guard trying to hustle him was hit with a black spell, and his hands grew hot as his blood boiled and burst out.

The Forger collapsed to the floor, scrambling for his wand.

But he was no fighter, and before he could even set his grip, he was lifted up and slammed into the wall, his wand sailing away.

He blinked, feeling the sodden cloak being ripped away and trying to get his bearings. There was he heard a deep voice groaning, before he was silenced with a familiar green light. The shadows parted, and he took in the mess that his home had become.

The enchanted windows were shattered revealing the stone walls behind. The floors were coated with blood and viscera. He could see a couple of body parts sticking out from under invisibility cloaks. But standing above them, the red of their robes showing only the gloss of blood, were 3 Blood Purists, all leveling their wands at him. From beside him, the shadows swirled around, revealing the form of the man that struck terror into the hearts of ordinary citizens. The Dark Lord in all his terrible glory.

"Though this was all rather overwrought. If your Lordship desired a meeting, he had but to ask." he said dryly. "And slaughtering my guard is hardly helping your case."

The Dark Lord chuckled lightly, and released the pressure on him, letting him drop back onto his feet. "I have been asking for the last several months. For you to stop wasting your talents letting some 16 year old buy firewhiskey. But you have rebuffed me."

The Forger straightened his robes, and dabbed away a small amount of blood that had dripped onto his neck. "Yes, well, you have to see it from my perspective. Certainly you have need of my talents now, but what happens once you complete your master plan and have control of the government? What use would I be then? I'd much prefer to have a sustainable future, thank you very much." he said calmly, before casting his gaze around.

"Oh, where are my manners? Do you or your friends want something to drink? That is, if you left my tea set intact. I'm very attached to it, you understand." he said, moving back over to his desk. He tried not to get his fine shoes too soaked in what remained of Bruiser as he went.

"No thank you. I am not here to attempt to sway you towards my side. I am much more interested in a recent client of yours. Mr. Sebastian Grey." the Dark Lord said, sounding remarkably normal despite the voice distortion. As he spoke, a picture of the man in question floated down onto his desk.

He settled back into his chair, shifting around and feeling something sharp poking his thigh. He fished around, and pulled a bloody tooth out of its imbedded place in the cushion.

He tossed it aside "Ah yes. Interesting man, that Mr. Grey. Under normal circumstances I'd be very weary of giving you any information about a client. However, I have the nagging suspicion that he is counting on that fact." he lectured, watching as the regular Purists took up position around the room.

"What do you mean?" The Dark Lord asked, his shadows swirling around. It seemed as though they were an extension of his body, and they expressed his emotions.

The Forger smiled "Many different types of people come through my door. I can always see the inexperienced, the first timers. Mr. Grey was not one of these. He was confident, he knew exactly what to ask and what not to do. He had only the vaguest requirements for his new identity, and wanted me to handle most of the little details. Probably to keep you from learning as much about him."

"Ever since I saw him in the papers, following a duel with you, I have been thinking about his motives. In certain cases, clients have wanted false identities to lay down trails, or send their pursuers in another direction. But in his case, I've the feeling that he wants us to be at odds, to divide your forces." He listed camly.

The Dark Lord leaned back in his chair "It would be clever. Or it could be a clever distraction for a certain Forger to get out of some very hot water." The Dark Lord noted, and the Forger felt his face stretch into an unnatural grin. "Perhaps. But that assumes that I would be foolish enough to lie to you, knowing your particular gift with mind arts." He said, watching the man for any reaction.

The Dark Lord tensed, and his shadows shifted and drew back, almost like they were affronted. He grinned wider "Oh, I'm sorry, was that supposed to be a secret?"

He could taste the rage rolling off the man, and the Purists shrank away on instinct. "It would be unwise to test me Forger, else I may decide you would be better as dog food." The Dark Lord said tightly, like he was just holding himself back.

"Knowing exactly how far I can push people is useful for more than just determining prices your lordship. Understand, I am not some weak kneed middleman you can push around. I am a professional, and I am totally willing to give you what you want, within reason. I do not like being manipulated, and I know the bosses will wish to avoid full scale conflict with you. Grey is not one of us, and I have no interest in protecting him."

The Dark Lord didn't immediately respond, instead stewing in his seat.

Whispers abound that the Dark Lord had the ability to bypass occlumency barriers and directly read surface level thoughts, but understandably it had never been confirmed. But, they usually claimed that he was only able to do it after a fairly long period with the individual, meaning he would be safe for at least a little while.

"Why should I believe that you are alone are capable of stopping retaliation? Criminals are not exactly known for being purely logical." The Dark Lord argued, and at that he had to shrug. "If you give your word, they'll take it. Men die all the time, it's just the cost of doing business. Besides, what with how hard Mr. Grey has been hitting you these past few weeks, I'm not sure you have a choice." he said, straightening his hair.

The Dark Lord growled, but the Forger knew it was just posturing. "Very well. Now, tell me everything you know." he commanded sharply.

The Forger crossed his legs and smiled "It just so happens that one of the beggars outside this very building managed to spot him before he came in, only he didn't look like he does in those pictures. Rather, he looked like a more typical denizen of this fair alley."

He reached into his drawer, ignoring how all the Purists tensed, and pulled out a moving picture of a man with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and various disfiguring warts.

The Dark Lord took the picture and it vanished into his shadows.

"When prominent merchants around the alley were questioned, it turned out that day he'd been on something of a shopping spree. He bought a mountain of apothecary materials, including a full set of potion equipment, as well as a small amount of rune equipment, but not enough to ward a whole house.

But more interesting to you is that he financed this little spree by pawning off a mansions worth of silverware and knickknacks." He said grandly, and the Dark Lord was leaned forward, theorizing "Meaning he was establishing a new base of operations not too long ago. But I haven't heard of any break ins with that amount of goods stolen." he noted, seemingly distracted from his previous anger.

"Neither have I. Additionally, it was all in rather outdated style, meaning he probably grabbed it from a house long abandoned." "And if that's the case, he might still being using it as a base. I assume he wasn't stupid enough to pawn anything easily identified?" The Dark Lord finished.

The Forger smiled lightly "Not exactly. It seems he couldn't resist adding in one very valuable diamond necklace to the sale. It's goblin made, and seems to have been a special order. You know how those little fellows are, they always have to know where their work goes." he explained.

"Hmmmm. This will be rather a lot of work to do if its nothing." The Dark Lord complained quietly. "No matter. Where is this necklace?" he asked tiredly.

"Borgin still hasn't been able to sell it. I'm sure he'll gladly give it up. If you ask nicely." he explained.

He could just make out the Dark Lord nodding through his illusions.

"Very well. I should tell you that if you're lying to me, or if the bosses decide to make things difficult, every single greasy back alley dark mage the bosses own won't be enough to save you from my wrath."

The air seemed to grow heavy on him. He ignored it, and gave his best charming smile "You know where to find if you have anymore questions. Though next time, you can come in without the need to destroy my home."

The Dark Lord scoffed, and his shadows shot forward to surround the Forger. A heartbeat later they parted on an empty room.

The Forger rose smoothly, and spotted his wand resting on the seat the Dark Lord had used.

He stepped over the rapidly cooling bodies and made his way over to one of his bookshelves and pulled out a small seemingly decorative mirror.

A brush on the rune on the back activated it, fog covering the glass. In the next moment, he prepared himself.

The fog cleared to reveal a heavily made up old woman, the madam of the nameless brothel "What can I getcha luv?" she rasped. "Call Louie and Ten-shickle, they need to get up here now!" he ordered, threading fear and panic into into his voice and swinging his head around wildly.

"All my guards are dead! Please, I need help!" he yelled, shutting the rune off before she could respond. He sighed, and set about musing his hair and pulling his robes crooked. His wand was tossed over into the corner, and he went to cower in the back room.

He had to look the part.

The trick with manipulation was making the target believe they were in control. He would need the bosses to go along with his plan without knowing it was his plan. If they thought of him as a lost little lamb, they would be more open to not blaming him for getting their men killed.

Now the game was afoot. He had set Grey and the Dark Lord at each other, and if he was lucky both would die. But no matter who won, the alley and the bosses would endure. He'd make sure of it.

**oooOOOooo**

Rookwood was still sweating through his robes, but at least the Forger had been amenable and full of information. So maybe he would live to see tomorrow. The Dark Lord took the small team silently through the streets within his shadows, hurtling towards Borgin and Burkes.

He doubted Borgin had the backbone to stand up to them like the Forger had.

Suddenly they were deposited roughly on the backstreet behind the store. "There is a customer inside. Slip in and wait for my signal." the Dark Lord ordered before vanishing into the dark.

Rookwood motioned to the rest of the team and cast a simple spell on the door. It was sealed up tight, but he had seen worse.

A moment later, the door swung open onto a dusty backroom. Rookwood led the team through the towering piles of mundane or vaguely illegal products. The room had to be expanded, as it took nearly 5 minutes to get to the door leading out onto the main sales room.

"-pleasure as always Mundungus, now get your stinking hide out of my shop!" he heard Borgin yell and the slurred responses from that bootlicker Fletcher before the door swung shut.

"Bloody worthless bastard… honestly don't know why I bother with him." Borgin muttered, clearly turning his attention away. Rookwood could just see his back, his stained robes.

He felt more then saw the Dark Lord enter the room, the shadows stretching forward off the wall. Like everyone else, Borgin was oblivious to his coming doom. "...wait, somebody there?" the old fool asked, his head whipping around.

"How perceptive of you." his Lord crooned out, amusement clear in his voice. Borgin just had time to let out a noise of surprise before he was thrown back into the wall. As he crumpled to the floor, Rookwood lead the team out into the room, forming a semi circle around the fallen man.

The Shadows swirled thickly around them, and the Dark Lord towered over the back alley merchant. He looked up at them blearlily, before terror took over his expression.

"Wat in Merlin's-" the Dark Lord pushed forward, getting right in Borgins face. "Silence." he ordered darkly, and Borgin shut his mouth with an audible click. "I do not care about the stuttering foolishness that flows from your mind. You have something I need, and I will be leaving with it."

Borgin nodded hurriedly, clearly too afraid to speak. "Good. The item was sold to you several weeks ago by a Stranger, as part of a large haul of household goods. It's a goblin made diamond necklace, old fashioned." the Dark Lord ordered, and the Borgin scrambled forward towards a safe underneath the counter.

Rookwood pulled back a bit, just in case Borgin was stupid enough to attack them, or try and trick them. He spun in the combination and pulled the safe open, revealing a pile of loose jewels and rings. From the back he pulled out a soft cloth package.

He shoved it at the Dark Lord, who motioned to Rookwood to take it. It was heavy, and he pulled it open to reveal an extremely fine necklace dripping with jewels. It was of goblin make, and probably cost a small fortune. The kind that would be remembered. The Dark Lord nodded approvingly, and without any more conversation swept them all away with his powers.

"We need someone to met with the Goblins. Today." The Dark Lord muttered as they travelled.

**oooOOOooo**

Two hours later, their agent returned from the Bank. He stood before the Dark Lord, some merchant Rookwood wasn't allowed to know the name of. "The master jeweler claims it was owned by Caldwell family. There's no record of anyone else owning it." He said plainly.

That was a surprise. He'd heard of the venerable line, but thought they were completely destroyed. "Curious." Muttered the Dark Lord, and dismissed the agent with a wave of his hand. "Have your sources inside the ministry pull everything they can on the Caldwells. Given the other items he pawned, it's likely the Caldwells had a second home they kept quiet." he theorised.

Rookwood bowed low "Of course. Though I might require more gold for bribes." he ventured. He didn't have many sources in the archives, which is where he would have to hunt.

"Yes, yes, whatever you need. But keep the circle small. If Grey learns what we're doing, we could lose our chance to kill him."

While they'd been waiting, Grey had struck again. He'd hit an individual cell this time, costing them another 6 bothers. He was relentless.

**oooOOOooo**

It took an agonizingly long wait to find even a hint of the Caldwells second home. They'd only paid tax on their main manor, and had sought no permits to build anywhere else. They were forced to dive into the deepest reems of the archives before they finally found a hint.

The family had been taken to court by a Wardmaster and his guild for failure to pay for services in warding a private island in 1901. They had lost the case, likely due to Lord Caldwell's deep pockets. The case had been buried, only surviving due to being misfiled.

Luckily for them, the apprentice of the wardmaker was still alive, a Pureblood named Percival Godwin. Even more luckily, he was a staunch supporter of the Purist cause with his grandson serving in the ranks.

When he had been summoned to met with the Dark Lord, he was there in under ten minutes.

"My Lord, it is the utmost honor to be in your presence. Truely, I had never dreamed to be granted such a privilege!" the withered old man groveled at the Dark Lords feet. Rookwood was sure he would have kissed his feet had he been able to see them.

"Please, rise my friend. Take a seat, I have heard tell of your health problems. No need to hurt yourself bowing to me." the Dark Lord said magnanimously, and Godwin's face nearly split with a grin. He rose shakily, barely able to make it to a second overstuffed chair.

He sank into it with a deep sigh. "You are most gracious my Lord, but no pain would stop me from giving you the respect you are due! You are the savior of my family, and of all Purebloods!" he declared, and Rookwood could see the Dark Lord preening under the praise.

"It heartens me to hear that. However, I am afraid I did not summon you here for simple conversation. I need your help."

Godwin looked dumbstruck. It probably blew his wrinkled mind that the Dark Lord he so clearly idolized was asking him for anything. "I, well, I am honored. But what can I possibly know?" he asked after a moment.

"Back in your youth, your master did work for the Caldwell family, did he not?" "...hummm, yes, yes we did! I remember it well. It was a rush job to secure a newly purchased island. We worked alongside the men building the manor on the isle."

"Do you remember the location?" the Dark Lord asked almost hungrily. Godwin rattled off a set of coordinates, which placed it just off the coast of Scotland.

"Excellent, simply excellent! You have done the cause a great service, my friend!" The Dark Lord hopped up, unnervingly happy.

"Wait my Lord! If I may ask, are you planning on attacking the isle?" Godwin cut in, and both younger Purists looked at the man. "It has crossed my mind. Why do you ask?" the Dark Lord asked curiously.

"Because the reason my master was not paid was due to a fatal flaw. The cornerstone is exposed on the southern end of the island. If you destroy it, the whole scheme will collapse." Godwin said hurriedly, and Rookwood couldn't contain his smile.

The Dark Lord was similarly thrilled "By Merlin, that's perfect! You are a gift good man, a gift! I would ask you remain around to tell us more about the original scheme, though I doubt it is unchanged."

Godwin nodded, chest puffed up.

"Rookwood, summon Lestrange and his troops. And Dolohov as well. It's time for him to redeem himself." he commanded, and Rookwood sprinted from the room.

Grey had no idea what was about to hit him.

**Authors Note:**

**Good Lord, so many new POVs because honestly I think I have a problem. Don't worry, none of them are going to be POV going forward. Leave a review if you like.**

**The reason for the long wait time was both due to sitting down and writing out a few further chapters to make sure everything lines up, and looking for a beta, which hasn't worked. Again, if you are interested or know anyone willing to do it, PM me. Leaving 4 seperate reviews telling me to get a beta 15 times is the exact opposite of helpful. **


	12. Black Blood

Bellatrix rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she stood in the cool morning air. It was 4:30 am, and she was usually fast asleep right now. But she didn't mind. Today, they were going to learn more about the Stranger.

Lord Slytherin had determined this would be the ideal time for the ritual. Around her, Dumbles followers milled blearily around. Bellatrix was a touched worried leaving Dorea alone, but they weren't that far from the Slytherin estate, and a team of well trusted hit-wizards were standing guard.

7 people were required for the ritual, and Lord Slytherin was busy finishing up the final touches on the circle nearby. Beside him, Dumbles and her, there was the cat-bitch, the Potters and Siri. All the people who had heard the original theory.

The Stranger being a traveller from a different reality seemed utterly absurd on the surface, but as she studied it became more and more plausible.

Of course, if he was a Slytherin she had a responsibility to help him. Only if he proved immediately hostile would they be forced to fight.

They had checked to see if Dorea owed the man a life-debt, and found nothing. This wasn't overly surprising. Life debts were tricky things, and required the person doing the saving to believe they were doing something extraordinary. That was why Aurors and medi-wizards didn't collect life-debts left right and center.

To the Stranger, killing 4 Purists was probably mundane. Especially given how many Purists he had killed in the last few weeks, with each day bring a fresh slew of corpses.

"We are ready." Lord Slytherin said, looking as put together as ever despite the early hour.

Bellatrix groaned and moved forward to her place on the circle, between Siri and Lily. She had to be ready, as she needed to do more than any of the rest.

"_Bellatrix, a moment?" Lord Slytherin asked after they got back from Kings Cross. Dorea had vanished into her room as soon as she got home, probably to avoid a conversation with her mother._

"_Of course my Lord." she followed him into his office. "I have a confession to make. The Alltativane ritual can do more than just locate magical disturbances. With a few modifications of my own design, it should be able to locate the Stranger as well." _

_Bellatrix raised her eyebrows a tad, but wasn't too surprised. Wheels within wheels. "I assume there is a reason you didn't mention that to Dumbledore?" "Indeed. You cannot deny how effective the man has been, even if the general public are sickened by it. Albus, for all his wisdom, still does not recognize the necessity of violence. This Stranger could be invaluable to us, if we can convince him we are on his side."_

_Bellatrix twirled her wand around her fingers, a nervous habit she'd been trying to break. "Are you sure you can convince him? He seems very determined to fight alone." she questioned. Lord Slytherin waved his hand at her. "Leave that to me. In any case, we will need to perform the location divination without Albus noticing. Now, he will keep most of his attention on me so I cannot do it, but you may be able to do so undetected." he said calmly._

"_What do you need me to do?"_

The candles glowing dimly against the wind, the incense was thick in the air. Dumbles had strong armed himself as the ritual leader and began the chant.

"Luc sho, Tie'mban no lon siecta la"

"Mac sho no va" all the other chanted in unison, raising their arms into the air.

"Luc sho noeve balan" Lord Slytherin said, and magic snaked out along the around the perimeter of the circle. The candle burned brighter, like torches in the night. "En sho mac balotep, Luc sho na chencun miatiendal"

Mist began to swirl around them, thick as pea soup. "Mac sho no va." they said together.

Bellatrix waited until Dumbles was chanting the long verse and the mist was thick enough she couldn't make out the other. "Lin sho, no leey vin no maca tovido." she whispered so low she couldn't hear it.

She pulled her arms down and swept a hand over her eyes. "Ech ming lo sho no quiene" a few glowing shimmers sprang out around her.

She hurriedly put her arms back up for the next unison chant.

The mist parted, and they were bathed in pale light as the different runes drawn around glowed blindingly bright.

"En sho, nojea tan laback no sho!" Dumbledore yelled, and suddenly the light was all encompassing.

She could see herself from above, standing in the circle. Then her vision was flung far away, hurling up the country, past a still dark city, over farmland and to the beach.

She was flying above the sea. The ocean swirlied around angrily, a storm whipping it into a froth.

The Stranger must be near, but where? She pushed forward as fast as she dared, and saw the a small circle of ocean wasn't moving quiet as violently, more placid. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a wave breaking on nothing.

She moved forward, and seemed to pass through a curtain of rain, and found herself floating above a small island, garden overgrown dominated by a ruined manor. She felt a pull towards it but resisted.

He might sense her if she got closer.

That would have to do. She shot back over the land, slamming back into her body.

She blinked the stars from her eyes, trying to stay on her feet. She couldn't give away that she'd seen more than they had.

The light faded, and she saw the candles had been blown out by the ritual. The chalk runes had been burned away by the magical power.

Dumbles looked unfazed, standing there was stroking his beard. "Well Albus, what did you see?" Lord Slytherin asked, deliberately not looking at her. She wanted to head off immediately to the island, but given how remote it was it was probably his main base, so he wouldn't be going anywhere. Besides, running off would raise suspicion.

"I believe I viewed the past. I saw a figure appearing out of thin air with a large magical blast. Now, if you would all follow me, we can see the site for ourselves." he said with that obnoxious knowing grin.

He popped away, and Bellatrix sighed and swayed a little. She'd had to use her own magical power to avoid any suspicion, and it had taken a toll.

Lord Slytherin slid up next to her, and without a word side-along apparated her. They landed in a field in the south of England, empty except for them.

Dumbles was standing over a small patch of flattened weeds, and Bellatrix could taste magic on her tongue. She came up, and saw that it was unnatural. The weeds were blown out and dead in the shape of a body, as though someone had just stood up.

Lord Slytherin knelt, and cast a complex charm over the area. "Incredible. Absolutely incredible. The magic is still strong even after weeks. If I didn't know better, I'd say this happened mere hours ago."

"More troubling, can you feel that? Dark Magic permeates the air." Dumbledore said, looking much more distraught.

She didn't have the same sort of sensitivity the archmages did, but she knew the sensation of sinking emptiness.

The Killing Curse, it was unmistakable. She shrank back from it, it made her remember the weight of Corvus's body in her arms.

Dumbledore began casting as well, and Bellatrix settled in for a long wait as the academics put their differences aside to discuss theories that flew well over her head. Oh well, it wasn't like the Stranger was going to move out today. She wondered how he would react to Lord Slytherins offer.

_He'll probably be rational enough to accept some help. He has to know he can't win this War alone._

**oooOOOooo**

Harry jerked awake, hopping up on reflex and sweeping his wand around. He found nothing, yet he would swear something was watching him. It was feather-light, but over the years he had learned to trust his gut instinct.

Something was wrong.

He stretched out his senses, and found nothing out of place. He quickly moved through the manor anyway, looking for anything out of place. Outside, a storm was in the process of dying down, and the sun was just beginning to shine through the clouds.

Harry's heart was beating a steady tattoo into his chest, despite the apparent lack of danger, he checked again, but in the twenty minutes since he woke he found nothing.

Well, he wasn't getting back to sleep tonight. Might be a good idea to pack his supplies. Just in case.

He'd been lucky so far, only using his grenades and one healing potion. But he couldn't grab more supplies. Knockturn was just too dangerous, too many searching eyes around.

Currently, he could only be sure of his brown haired glamour being secure. He might need to make new ones, just to be safe.

Harry made his way into the kitchen to put all of his potion making supplies into his satchel. He was in the process of wrapping up a silver cauldron when he felt a brush against the ward.

It was light, but unmistakable.

The only question was who had found him: the Order, the Purists or Slytherin. (Or the Ministry, but they were hardly a threat) A moment later, he had his answer: a surge of dark magic on the southern edge of the island. He poked his head up and saw that twenty or so wizards were approaching on brooms, forms outlined by the rain and faint sunlight/

Things were unnaturally dark near the ward stone. So, it was the Purists. That made things simpler.

Harry sighed, and finished putting the equipment away. He had stayed here too long. It was inevitable that the Purists would strike back, and it appeared the Dark Lord was coming out personally.

_It is nice to feel wanted._

He rubbed his neck, feeling a small knot of tension. He could run, but where was the fun in that? Given how paranoid his prey had been getting, it was likely the Dark lord had pulled his best troops for this operation. Sure, he still didn't want to kill the Lord, but he could rob him of some of his best.

He felt anti apparition and portkey wards flare up just past the edge of the isle.

With a final deep breath, he could feel the wards cracking under the assault. It was clear they knew just where to hit, going straight for the wardstone.

He slipped his glamour ring on and pulled out a potion grenade. Time to get to work.

The wards cracked just enough for a massively overpowered blasting charm to hit the wardstone. With heavy boom, the wards fell.

Purists on brooms descended, sending curses and flames all over the small island, and hitting the house.

He felt about half the Purists move into to land on the area they had blasted.

Unfortunately for them, Harry had buried the runes deep enough that they were unharmed. As the first hopped off his broom, the magic detector set the explosive off.

The island shook as stone and dust was thrown up into the air, throwing several Purists high into the sky. The dust hurled around, and Harry leaned out of one the windows and launched a few proximity detonation hexes at those still in the air.

He caught a few more Purists, but as he was distracted a few bold Purists landed on the roof. They cast curses down through the burning structure, and ducked inside.

The Dark Lord seemed to be holding back, letting his minions wear him out before engaging. Harry slipped down the stairwell as the traps set in the house went to work. Walls shattered and metal shards shot out. Fire twisted around from runes, and when a Purist extinguished them a potion grenade detonated into a wall of freezing air.

He made it out into the now ruined garden, smirking as the last of the Purists in the manor died. The whole thing was a mix of fire and ice, but the fire was winning.

More Purists landed a few feet from him, blinded by the dust and all their attention still on the manor.

He took the opportunity to conjure a flock of Starlings and disillusion himself. The rest of the mounted Purists seemed reluctant to come down. The manor was ripped apart by another explosion.

The Purists in front of him were cut off, and he took advantage of it.

He cast a fiery hex at their feet, making it look like they had stepped on another trap. They were blasted into the air in a shower of fire and body parts He ducked to the side as a leg fell down where he was standing. The men in the air were distracted, and in that moment his flock struck.

Using their metal beaks, they buried themselves in the Purists flesh. Several fell screaming into the ocean. Harry prepared to attack the rest, but before he could the Dark Lord made his move.

Shadows swept around him, clawing at his armor.

"I told you you would suffer for interfering with my plans." the distorted voice rang out smugly, and Harry couldn't pinpoint his location.

He didn't bother with a response. Time was not in his favor, as he could feel the Purists landing and his birds being destroyed.

He spun in a circle, conjuring a ring of blue flame. With a push, it surged outwards, burning the shadows away and scorching the earth. Using the distraction, he called to the stone beneath him, and it pulled up into two dozen golems resembling men in armor. With a breath and whisper, the stone came to life.

His soldiers charged, noise hidden by the raging fire. The Purists were cowering behind shields when the golems charged straight through, battering the wizards aside with their stone fists.

Blasting charms bounced off his creations, and Harry was not quite. He flew up into the air, the flames returning to him.

It was foolish of the Purists to give up their aerial superiority, but he wasn't going to complain. The fire formed into a great winged beast, and let out a roar of challenge.

The shadows that seemed to follow the Dark Lord everywhere were clustered further back, and a great jet of freezing air came from within to hit his dragon. Harry flew around at great speed, hurling blasting and fire charms down at the shadows. His warriors could handle the minions.

The Dragon altered its course, breathing a great gout of flame at the Purists. His golems were unaffected, and even a few Starlings came out of the woodwork to divebomb them as they were forced back to the edge of the isle.

Seeing this, the Dark Lord seemed to go into a frenzy, sending dozens of spells at Harry in short order. Globs of acid and killing curses filled the air, and he was forced to bob and weave.

Harry flew higher, and cast a banishing curse down at the shadows in an attempt to stymie the assault.

It barely slackened.

With a growl, Harry flew around, dipping toward the sea. With a flick, he grabbed the water and pushed it up into a great wave towards the Dark Lord. He'd be forced to either block it or be swept away.

The saltwater crested over the isle before it slammed into a shield, curving around. Harry shot past, spinning and casting a _lancia _at the point where the shield was.

A heartbeat later, a distorted scream echoed out.

Harry let a smile stretched across his face, and he flew in to finish the wounded Lord. _Sure the Purists will be pissed, but I can take them, and Dumbledore is on point. They'll be handled. _He rationalized. Time to add a 5th notch to his belt.

With a blast of air, the shadows were dispelled and he could see a man lying on the ground, arm several feet away. He was dressed in the Dark Lords robes, but the hood had been pushed back.

He was close enough to taste it, no one was nearby as he finally looked his quarry in the face.

The man heavily pushed himself up, and Harry was shocked to see it was Dolohov, and he was smiling smugly up at him. _What? But he was at the Department of mysteries-_

The hairs on the back of his neck. Harry spun around just in time to see the Dark Lord in midair emerging from an illusion, spell already forming at the tip of his wand. Harry had cut too much speed, but he pushed himself out of the way, and in the same moment began casting a shield.

He was too slow.

The dark spell ripped through his abdomen, spraying blood out as it went straight through his basilisk armor and out the other side. Agony ripped through him and the whole world went white as sensation overwhelmed him.

He flew chaotically, concentration broken as he hurled into the burning remains of his base. More spell followed as he collapsed through the burning structure with a agonized scream.

He landed on the smouldering wooden floor hard enough to shake his teeth and split his vision.

Instinct told him to get up, he could hear the stomp of Purist feet. But the wound in his stomach wasn't like any other he had suffered. It felt like a smelter, with molten metal churning around his gut.

Tears streamed down his face, and the pain was all he could focus on.

Until he heard a crack above him, and opened his eyes to see a structural beam teetering, held up by a swiftly crumbling support. In the next moment it shattered, sending the beam straight down. The pain was too great, he couldn't move.

_No No No this is not how I die. _But there was nothing he could do.

He screwed his eyes shut, praying it would kill him outright.

There was a crunch of breaking wood, but after a moment Harry cracked his eyes and was surprised to see an expanse of stone in front of him. It lurched back after a moment, reveal itself as one of his golems. The burning beam was held securely on its back, and Harry could have kissed it. It must have followed him inside and protected him.

Strange. He didn't remember imbuing them with that much intelligence. Outside, he could hear the sounds of stone shattering, and the roar of his dragon. They were still fighting. Further gratitude was cut off as his wound burned in agony.

He grit his teeth, and looked down. Black bile was pouring out from his fingers, though the glamor prevented him from seeing the actual wound. The disguise had been damaged somehow, and was flickering weakly.

Harry cursed the Dark Lord under his breath. He had no idea what curse this was, and no idea how to counter it. As fast as he could, he opened up his thigh bag and his bile coated fingers slipped on a dose of Devil's Blood.

As he worked, a spell sailed over head, sending a spray of acid out over the burning ruin. The smoke was beginning to get to Harry, but staying low should buy him some time. With a painful movement, he drained the potion. He felt the healing go to work on his shoulder and head (must have been from crashing through the house) but the piercing agony in his gut refused to back down.

From the doorway, he say his golem batter down a Purist, stone fists turning his chest into pulp.

The booster hit Harry like the truck, the adrenaline finally taking the edge off his pain. Keeping one hand applying pressure to the wound, he shifted into a crouch. Every movement sparked pain off the wound, and belatedly realized his shoulder wasn't moving correctly.

He cast a bubble head charm to stop the smoke from killing him, and hit the wound with the strongest healing charm he could muster.

It did nothing.

He felt like screaming, but doubted it would help. He had exhausted his meager medical knowledge, without professional help survival was unlikely.

As if to compound this, the dying roar of his dragon pierced the air, and the sounds of battle were fading.

At the doorway, his protector was forced back with a spray of stone chips as a blasting charm hit it in the head.

Harry leaned to the side, and sent a cutting charm at the Purist. Normally it would have cut the bastard in half, but now it just left a long cut on the man's robe, sending out only a small spray of blood, but still dropping him to the ground. The curse must be affecting his magic.

"He's still alive back here!" another Purist shouted, banishing the golem further back.

Harry pushed himself painfully up. Looks like this was the end. He released his wound, letting the bile flow out, and coughed painfully. It felt like there were glass shards inside his neck. He coughed again, spewing out blood.

Only thing left was Petroves decoction. If he could keep it down. The pounding of feet came over the crackling of fire. His last golem closed the distance with the Purist, bringing its hands down on the shitstains skull, sending bone and grey matter flying.

His fingers were slick, but he got hold of the decoction and began to unscrew the cap.

**oooOOOooo**

Bellatrix leaned back on her broom, shifting uncomfortably. The sun was just cresting on the horizon. She and Lord Slytherin had finally managed to slip away from the others. Dumbledore would probably be happy to keep casting spells on that field for the next few days, but luckily they had been able to beg off.

The two had grabbed firebolts and where in the process of flying towards the small warded island. Still, brooms and dresses didn't exactly go together, and she'd never enjoyed flying. But the other issue was nervousness about what they would find.

Sure, the Stranger had saved her daughter, but that didn't mean he was necessarily willing to work with them. And why was Lord Slytherin so invested in enlisting his aid? There was something he wasn't telling her.

Suddenly, there was a flash of blue on the horizon. She squinted, trying to see it clearer. Through the clouds, she spotted flashes of light on a dark shape. They were still at least three miles away.

"It appears we are not the only one who have found his base!" Lord Slytherin yelled over the wind. He laid himself flat on his broom, and shot forward.

Bellatrix followed suit, possibilities racing through her mind. Had Dumbledore tricked them, and found him as well? Was the it the Purists? Was it another group? As they got closer, she was able to pick out specific spells being cast. Clearly there were a few combatants.

The wards she had felt earlier must be down, and the isle looked ravaged. Most of it was dominated by a structure that was burning, and a beast made of blue fire seated itself in the ruin. Figures scrambled around the outside, clad in crimson.

There was a mass of shadows outside, and as she closed the distance, she could see crimson robes. The Purists were casting at the burning house, fighting dark shapes.

From the shadows, a great beam of magic soared out, and slammed into the Dragon. It let out a roar of pain, and seemed to dissolve.

"Disillusion yourself, and find him. He's somewhere in the manor!" Lord Slytherin roared, breaking off to the ocean. He pointed his wand dow, and the sea began to churn angrily.

**oooOOOooo**

Harry's last golem let out a pitiful noise as the duo of purists finally blasted it into shards. He was still struggling with the vial, and could only move slightly. One Purist let out a cruel laugh at his predicament, clearly mocking him in his final moment.

He weakly lifted his wand, determined to kill at least one of them, when spellfire came from above, cutting both men down before he could blink.

Harry swiveled up, trying to see the who had just saved his ass. From the burning roof, was a figure on a broom, coated in a disillusionment. They dropped down, coughing, and Harry got a clear look at her face.

It was Bellatrix.

_Wait, what?_ He thought as she swept off the broom and cast down the hall, before she turned back to him. He wondered if the blood loss was causing hallucinations.

"Get up! We have to get out of here!" she yelled, and he was taken by how different she looked from the last time he had seen her.

_No. The last time you saw Lestrange. _He reminded himself, and this was Slytherin. Not the same person at all.

Suddenly, she was in his face "Are you listening to me dimwit?! I said We. Have. To. Go!" she yelled, some of her hair flying around.

Harry blinked, instantly suspicious. How had she found him? Why was she referring to them as 'we'? Why was she trying to help him at all?

He heard a great crash outside, and men screaming? What the hell was going on?

Bellatrix was still waiting for an answer, and seemed to be growing angier. "Why should I trust you?" he asked through the pain.

She rolled her eyes at him "You don't have a choice! Because the Purists are definitely going to kill you, and I might not!" she said in what he hoped was sarcasm.

He looked back around, his wound pulsating pain, and felt his grasp on sanity slipping. _Am I really considering going with her? She must be playing some sort of long game. But do I really want to die here? _He wondered, looking at her smooth face, her eyes that weren't insane.

"Fuck it." he muttered, more blood trickling out of his mouth, and he reached up and took her hand. It was smooth, but not totally soft, and with a strength in the grip.

Bellatrix pulled him up, and Harry let out a mewl of pain as his wound protested. She cast an eye down at him. "Oh, you idiot, how badly wounded are you?" she asked sharply, but he could see some concern in her eyes.

Maybe he was hallucinating.

"I can make it out of here." he growled lowly, trying to stop his vision from splitting. Bellatrix glared at him, but she pulled the broom around. It was extremely awkward trying to get on while not touching her, there wasn't much room, and he went back to applying pressure to his wound.

"Oh, come on!" she yelled at him, and pulled him close, his chest to her back. But he didn't complain, as the molten pain reared back up and he just focused on not passing out.

When his perception came back, they were in the air at speed. Bellatrix wasn't the best flyer, and the added weight was slowing them down. Strangely, he looked back and saw the Purists weren't even looking at them. Instead, the sea had risen up, tentacles of water lashing out as a levitation that stretched up into the sky raged down at the island. As they made it away, the conjured kraken roared in rage, and with a mighty swing it shattered the stone of the isle, and sending crimson figures flying.

They flew higher, and he just barely felt them pass through the wards trapping them in. "Hold on!" Bellatrix screamed over the wind, and she leaned back into him. Harry didn't let go of his wand, but gripped her shoulder with three fingers.

The whole world spun wrenchingly fast, sending new burst pain through his mind.

**oooOOOooo**

They landed in a tangle of limbs on the manor lawn, and Bellatrix quickly shoved the broom away from where it was lodged between her legs. The Stranger groaned, still wrapped around her. She felt something wet coating her leg, and twisted around to find him lying in the morning sun, eyes screwed shut.

Blood dripped from his mouth, and there was a pool of black liquid growing under him. His hand was pressed into his stomach, disappearing below the illusory robes.

"My lady?" said a voice, and her head snapped up to see one of the guards standing a few feet away, wand out.

"Don't just stand there you lunk, summon the healer!" she ordered, and the man snapped to action. She stood quickly, and cast a levitation charm on the man.

It didn't work. He must have been somewhat magically resistant.

"Tilly!" she yelled, and the house elf popped a few feet away "Get him inside to one of the guest bedrooms." she ordered, and the elf swiftly leavitated him away.

Bellatrix followed them in, watching as the glamor continued to flicker weakly, revealing his black armor underneath. They sprinted through the entryway, the Stranger dripping black liquid as they went.

They made it to the bedroom, and the elf laid him down on the bed.

She heard the patter of feet coming up behind them, and she turned hoping it was the healer. Instead, it was Dorea, in a nightgown and mussed hair. "Mother, what's-" "Dorea, you have to leave." Bellatrix ordered, not wanting her daughter to see anything that would scar her further.

Before Dorea could argue, the healer and the guard burst in. The healer was a greyed haired older man, and had served the Slytherin family for decades. He didn't even raise an eyebrow at the wanted man lying there.

"What happened?" he asked in a clipped tone, pulling out his wand. Bellatrix opened her mouth to tell her what little she knew.

"Cursed spell...entry and exit left abdomen, angled through the intestine. No effect… from Sigillum Vulnere or healing potion." the Stranger grunted, just his speech sounding like it was agony.

The healer noded. "I'll need to remove your glamor ring in order to treat you." he said, already reaching for the Strangers hand.

Bellatrix and Dorea both crowded close, hope high in her chest.

The man spared a glance over to them, eyes softening slighting looking at Dorea. "...secret." he whispered, before letting the healer pull off the sparking ring.

The glamor rippled and vanished, revealing matted black armour made of large scales, and bound with silver thread like scars. But she could only focus on his face, the well sculpted features shifting.

He was ghostly pale, skin pulled taut against his bones, too gaunt and sharp to be healthy. His hair was deep black and medium length. For a moment, she thought he might be Corvus, there was a similarity in the broad strokes. But his nose was the wrong shape, and his lips were different. Than, his eyes opened and she gasped. They were a deep emerald green, the type she had only seen once before.

Lily Potter's eyes, in this mans head. Her eyes flicked up and she saw a faded scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt.

She gaped like a fish, and saw a flash of humor in the Strangers distinct eyes, before they slid shut.

Dorea let out a shocked noise, and Bellatrix had been so focused on his face she'd forgotten about his wound. She looked over, and gagged a bit looking at gruesome wound. It was a gaping hole in his stomach larger than a snitch, and from it flowed black liquid at an alarming rate. The flesh was ravaged..

The healer looked deadly serious, and quickly looked over to the house elf. "Bring me boiling water, Paraledrake extract, and as many clean towels as you can." he ordered briskly.

"Will he live?" Bellatrix asked, not looking directly at the wound.

"I don't know. I've never seen an injury like this before." he said in a clipped tone, casting numerous charms on the Stranger… she really needed to ask him his name if he survived.

Before she could pull her daughter out of the room, the door was flung open and Lord Slytherin burst in. He looked slightly damp, and one patch of his robes was melted.

He took in the scene in front of him, face twisting into a deep set frown. But she noticed a flash of triumph in his eyes when he looked at the Strangers forehead.

He didn't even look at the two women, instead moving straight to the bedside to help the Healer.

He cast a charm on the wound, and swore. "Merlin be damned, he used got hit with the Tra Grevea. We'll need to act quickly to save him."

The Lord threw off his cloak and summoned a silver knife. "Back up."

The healer moved to wall, watching the Lord with wide eyes.

He moved his wand in a complex pattern, and chanted in a language Bellatrix didn't know. Using the knife, he cut his hand and the blood floated out of the wound.

Light shimmered around the two men, and some of the black bile floated up out of the Strangers injury, and the light grew blinding as the two liquids mixed in midair.

Bellatrix twisted, shielding Dorea as Lord Slytherins chant finished, and there was a snapping sound.

She blinked the spots from her eyes and saw Lord SLytherin slumped over the Stranger, looking pale and ghastly. The healer came back up and began casting on the stranger, and she noticed his wound had changed. Rather than black, the liquid coming out was blood, and it no longer looked so diseased.

"What did you do?" she asked, shocked. She'd never seen that sort of ritual, but blood magic was dangerous, and usually required some kind of sacrifice from the caster.

_Why is he willing to do so much for this man? _She wondered.

Lord Slytherin shakily stood up, and looked over to the women "I did only what was required. Now, both of you should leave. And Steven, let me know as soon as he wakes up. He'll be confused, and I don't want him becoming violent."

Bellatrix took it as dismissal, and pulled her child away with her as the two men tried to remove his armor.

Dorea was unusually quiet, and Bellatrix's mind was still flying at high speed from her brief but exciting morning. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly.

Her daughter bit her cheek, and kept looking down "I, well, I was just hoping…" she trailed off, disappointment seeping into her tone.

"I know sweetie. I wanted it to be your father too, but we knew that it was a small chance." she tried to comfort her.

In all honesty, the man still must have some connection to the Slytherin line in order to be a parseltongue. _But those eyes. _

Eye color in the magical world was very significant. Vibrant colors were often connected to larger magical cores, and the color tended to be in some way expressed in their magic. In made sense that in the Atrium his soul aspect came out green.

Green eyes were rare, and especially green eyed wizards. And the color was precisely the same as Lily Potter's.

And the lightning bolt scar seemed to indicate he was the boy who lived. And that meant there was a strong chance he was Harry Potter, the boy who had died on Halloween all those years ago.

"Umm, mistress?" a timid voice broke in from behind her. She turned to see one of the house elves standing there, wringing its little hands.

"What?" she barked.

Its wrinkled head dropped low, unable to look her in the eye. "Your robes are dirty mistress, they're dripping." the elf said timidly, and Bellatrix looked over the hallway. She could see shiny spots in the rug, and realized her back robes shone with the black liquid.

"Ah. I'll go get changed." she said, waving the elf away. "Dorea, you should get ready for the day as well." she ordered, sweeping away towards her chambers.

They still had some business and social issues today, and she doubted the Lord would be available for most of it.

**Authors Notes:**

**Fuckin' finally. Next couple of chapters are going to be Harry coming to terms with the Slytherins. **

**The ritual language is just made up gibberish, if that wasn't obvious.**


	13. Meet the Family

**Authors Note: Alright, this note is a bit long, but I feel the the need to explain a few things. **

**Firstly, this is going to be the last chapter uploaded without my Beta's going over it, so please know that the flaws are going to be corrected eventually. They're moving up from the first chapter, and it's going to be a while before the story gets going again, but this is not abandoned. It's just going to take some time, but I want to do this right. These changes will not be earth shattering, except I will be partially rewriting chapter 10, as that has been by far the most controversial, and that's on me. It was a sudden lurch for Tommy to figure it out, and it was the result of me wanting to bring the characters together quickly. I admit, I wanted to get on with the most interesting part of the story to me, that being the characters reacting to a wildly different reality and Harry. I had no interest in creating an elaborate mystery surrounding him, but I rushed it and I understand if some readers were expecting that element. In this chapter, Slytherin lays out his logic a bit, but when the rewrite comes to this point it will most likely change. All other story elements will remain the same.**

**That's because this will be my only long fic on this site for at least the next few years. My free time is rapidly diminishing, and I doubt once it's done that'll I'll be able to come back to it.**

**Next, most of my reviews have been great, but a vocal minority have been... less kind, and I'd like to speak to them directly. Listen, I know this story is not perfect, and I'm sorry if that spoils your enjoyment of this, but this story is my vision, and I need to stay true to that. I am not a professional writer and I make no claims to be. I am not going to spend too much time studying story structure to smooth out all the rough edges when I could just be writing.**

**Also, if you're going to leave rude reviews stop acting surprised when I write back with the same energy! You want to be dicks in the reviews that's your right, but I am more then willing to hit back. I have no responsibility to be polite to you, that has to be earned. If you have a disagreement with my work, put it politely, don't act holier than thou and I'll be perfectly willing to change it or at least discuss it. Be rude, curt, or ride in on a high horse and I have no problem telling you exactly how full of shit you are. **

**But I can't stop you. Just want to set the correct expectations. And it is fun arguing with strangers online. As for the nice or polite reviews, thank you very much. You give me the motivation to keep going. And whatever you think of this story, thank you for reading it!**

_Harry was floating on the surface of the lake, the water lapping around him. His ears were under the water, so everything sounded muffled and distant. The sun danced over his closed eyelids, and he could feel a lovely warmth. _

_It was nice to get away for a little while, and the summer warmth was lovely. It seemed the squid was far away tonight, and none of the mermen were close. He kept his eyes closed. _

_Maybe Ron and Hermione could come out, Ginny too. He wouldn't mind some company. With everything that had happened recently, they all needed to get away, even if just onto the grounds. _

_He'd missed them. _

_The light was growing brighter. A burning flake drifted down and settled on his forehead. He snapped his eyes open, and gasped in the night air. _

_Hogwarts was a roaring inferno. Smoke blotted out the stars, and he could see the his house tower leaning dangerously. The windows looked like eyes with orange whites, staring at him._

'_You did this', they seemed to say. 'You failed us.' _

_He peered further, and could see bodies littering the ground around the lake, the grass burned away. He saw Ron and Hermione nearby, curled in each others arms. Neville was near the edge, face half blasted off. _

'_They trusted you, followed you. To this end.' _

_Harry tried to move, but his limbs were too heavy. He looked down, and saw his armor had been rendered apart, splaying his insides into the water. _

'_All your power, and still you were helpless at the end' they mocked, eyes glassy. He had to move, to save them!_

'_Save us? You can't even save yourself.'_

_Something churned beneath him. It tasted the blood in the water, and it was hungry. Tears escaped his eyes. He had failed, failed everyone and everything. _

_The water rushed around him, mixing with the tears. _

_The creature rushed towards him, he could feel its teeth sink into his flesh-_

He jerked back to consciousness, heart hammering in his chest. His stomach burned with pain, preventing him from getting up. He was shrouded in darkness, and the bed he was lying in was sinfully soft. It felt like he was melting into it.

His breath evened out, and he felt naked. He was covered in soft sheets without his armor in the way, and he couldn't feel his wand.

He tried to move around, only for two soft hands to land on his shoulders and push him back into the marshmallow mattress. "Don't move, you'll reopen your injury," said a strangely familiar voice, a woman's.

"Wa-" he tried to ask for his wand, but his throat was desert dry, and the word stuck in his throat. Before he could try again, a cold glass was pressed to his mouth.

_She must think I said water, _He thought exasperatedly.

Still, he couldn't argue with the choice. He sipped the chilled liquid slowly, and it tasted like the sweetest nectar on his parched mouth.

When the glass was pulled away, he took a deep breath and tried to speak again.

"My wand...where is my wand?" he asked, voice hoarse.

He's eyes still hadn't adjusted to the dark, he could just see the woman's figure through the darkness. "It's close. But you don't need it, you're safe here." she soothed, and despite everything he trusted her.

He remembered Madam Pomfrey telling him the same thing, but it felt like that was centuries ago. He couldn't fight the tiredness, the exhaustion weighing him down. He fell back into the abyss.

**oooOOOooo**

The next time he woke, he mind was much clearer. A dim light slipped around the room, and his eyes adjusted slightly. The bedroom was covered in green and silver with dark wood accents. It seemed to be either late or very early in the day based on the light.

He twisted slightly, and groaned at the flash of pain in his stomach. Wait… how did he get here?

He strained his mind, trying to banish the last of the mental fog.

It came back to him in pieces; the attack on the island, the brief duel with the fake Dark Lord, the real Dark Lord tricking him and cursing him in the back. Even in memory, that curse's agony was unique. Than, he was saved from certain death by...Bellatrix?!

He remembered a woman speaking to him earlier, and what with the Slytherin colors all around him he was in Tommy's manor. As he moved his head, he found what he was looking for.

Bellatrix Slytherin was asleep in a chair by the bedside, her wand loosely gripped in her lap.

Harry made sure not to make any noise,and just looked at her. She looked very peaceful asleep. Her feature not twisted into any expression, and her hair was mostly down rather than her usual half up half down style.

It was hard to imagine Lestrange looking like that. The lines on her face had been cut in by a decade and a half in Azkaban, and even in death she hadn't been at peace.

But this woman in front of him wasn't Lestrange. She wasn't the murderer of his godfather and several of his friends. She wasn't an insane criminal. Well, that he knew of.

It appeared he had been taken into the snakes den. Now, what was he going to do about it?

Throughout all his investigations into the Purist he found that Lord Slytherin was strictly above board, as was the rest of the family.

In the wizengamot, he led a group of cenertis conservatives, threading the needle between the few remaining hardliners and Dumbledore's reform faction. From the middle he was able to tip the balance between the two sides and pick winners.

And Harry had no doubt he had ordered Bellatrix to rescue him. That conjuried seabeast that had covered their retreat was probably his work.

Why? And how had he found him at the same time the Purists had? It was doubtless they had some ulterior motive for saving him, and would want something from him.

This was bad, but it could be worse. It was clear they didn't trust him, but at the least they hadn't killed him yet.

Could he fight his way out of here?

The wound through his abdomen still shot pangs up his spine, but it was far less than it had been. He was weak, and his magical core was drained significantly. Without a wand his wandless magic was much more restricted. Bellatrix was asleep, so he might be able to take her out before she woke.

But he doubted Slytherin was careless enough to not have some magical detections on him. If he was nearby, Harry wouldn't last long in his current state.

And even if he could win, should he? Thus far Tommy had given him no reason to think he was evil, and they had a common enemy in the Purists.

Maybe he was being too cynical.

In any case, he was in no position to do anything at the moment.

So, he sat in the dim room for a few minutes, just watching Bellatrix sleep, marveling the newness of it all.

She really was beautiful. From a purely objective standpoint, of course. She must have been around her mid-forties, but looked barely 30. _The benefits of magical skincare, I suppose_.

Seeming to notice his study she stirred, slowly coming back to awareness. Harry shamelessly kept staring at her.

She blinked her still sleep leadened eyes around, than jolted when her eyes met his his.

His gaze never wavered.

It took a second for Bellatrix to compose herself "Merlin you are creepy. Would it kill you to blink?"

He didn't move an inch. But Bellatrix surprised him. She just rolled her eyes and stood up.

"Well, if you're awake you'll need the healer."

"Why are you sitting here if you can't even help me?" he asked in a dry rasp.

She smiled dangerously at him "So you can speak in complete sentences. And I was here in case you woke up cranky and were stupid enough to get violent."

He raised an eyebrow "And you were sleeping on the job," "Oh forgive me, I was tired after not resting since I pulled your ungrateful ass out of a burning building," she snarked back.

"By the way, what's your name?" she asked quickly, and Harry glared at her silently. She didn't seem surprised by his appearance, or she had already gotten over it.

"Grey." he responded neutrally.

She rolled her eyes again "Look, I'm not in the mood to play games with you. We know you're from an alternate reality, and you're clearly the boy-who-lived from that reality, so why don't you cut to the chase and tell me your real name. We have enough of your blood we can check anyway."

Harry wasn't often surprised, but of course any version of Bellatrix would be able to pull it off.

After a moment of gaping like a fish, he managed to speak "How the hell did you figure-" his throat caught, and he let out a rattling cough.

Bellatrix came next to him, and pressed a glass of water to his mouth.

He drank greedily, though she pulled the glass away after only a moment. He took a steadying breath, and looked up at the witch standing over him.

"Lord Slytherin figured it out. It was the only logical solution once we had all the information." she said, something veiled in her tone.

_...oh. _

"So Dorea recovered her memory." he said, his voice no longer so ragged. He had given away a lot, and that was the only slip up he had so far.

"Yes, and that reminds me," Bellatrix said, and suddenly leaned down and put her face right in his, her expression stormy.

"I have forgiven you for obviating her, but I swear on my husbands grave if you dare cast anything on her ever again you will suffer agony the likes of which you cannot imagine. Am I clear?" she said dangerously.

"Crystal." he said, trying to mask his amusement. As if there was agony he hadn't suffered already. Bellatrix didn't see it and pulled back, seemingly satisfied.

There was the woman he was familiar with. Though having her defend someone was new.

He sighed "I do regret that. Is she alright?" he asked, remembering the young girl and the terrified look on her face when he'd been about to obliviate her.

Bellatrix pursed her lips "She's having nightmares about it, but otherwise okay."

Harry nodded, than hissed in pain as the movement reminded him of his wound.

"I'll get the healer, but try not to move." Bellatrix said, and moved out of the room quickly.

She definitely still had a sharp tongue.

Perhaps it was better that they knew he wasn't from their world. Simplified things at least.

A moment later she re-entered the room followed by an older man he didn't recognize.

The man didn't speak to him at all, just briskly began casting spells on him. He pulled the sheets back, and Harry saw that the wound on his stomach looked much better. There was no bile, and the flesh was puckered, new pink skin stretching over it, though it would be a ghastly scar.

"How bad was it?" he asked to fill the silence, and Bellatrix went back to her seat.

"Terrible. You are a very lucky man, and you owe the Lord your life. Without his knowledge, I would not have been able to stabilize you. And there is still a risk. The curse came dangerously close to your spine, and if it had been a quarter inch to the left you would never have walked again. As such, you must remain still." the man listed out quickly, not looking at him.

"My life belongs to no one." Harry said harshly, not like the idea of Slytherin having any right to him. Especially now that he knew he was a parseltongue.

"It's just a turn of phrase. No need to get your knickers in a twist." Bellatrix said, and Harry glared at her.

She was unfazed. "I'm still waiting to hear your name. Otherwise, I'll refer to you as Buttercup." she said snarkily.

Harry lay back in the bed, looking at the ceiling. "Is there anyone else who can watch me?"

"Don't bite the hand that feeds you Buttercup. Or heals you in this case." she said, pulling out a book to start reading.

_What did I do to deserve this? She's not going to stop this. And it's not like I can hide my relations to the Potters…_

"Harry. My name is Harry Potter." he admitted, and Bellatrix looked up at him.

"I figured as much. You're a lot like Rose Potter."

"I was always told I looked just like my father, figured that would give me away."

Bellatrix snorted "Maybe when you were younger, but not now. You'd need at least a little color on your skin, and maybe to have had a decent meal in the last two years."

The corners of his mouth quirked up at her blunt appraisal, before he smothered it. This was Bellatrix, he couldn't be amused by her.

He was going to respond, but the healer grabbed a few vials. "Drink." he ordered.

He did, letting the foul tasting liquids drain down his throat without gagging. If they were going to kill him, they would have done it already. Besides, he had a higher tolerance for potions than people knew. It's why all the potions he made were extra strength.

Now, he needed to sleep. He'd tackle the rest of it later, when he was stronger.

He looked at Bellatrix one last time. It was strange how easy it was to see her as different to Lestrange. _Maybe this won't be too difficult. _

"Sleep tight buttercup." her voice broke in.

_I take it back, this woman is going to drive me insane. _Was his last thought before his eyes drifted shut.

**oooOOOooo**

His third time waking in the room was slightly better. He woke instantly, and slowly cracked his eyes open. The room was much brighter, and he wasn't alone.

In the chair Bellatrix had occupied sat a much smaller figure.

Dorea Slytherin was dressed in dark overly styled robes, clearly attempting to look older than she was. He was struck by how similar she looked to her mother, trying to give him a cold look that wasn't really working.

"Should you be in here?" he asked, sounding much better than he had. His wound also felt better, nearly closed. He doubted Bellatrix would let her daughter around him while they still were unsure if he was violent towards them.

Dorea shrugged "No. But Mother needed to sleep and the healer said you'd be asleep for at least the next few hours. Guess he was wrong."

Harry cracked his neck, moving experimentality "Guess so. How long have I been here?"

"They brought you in 2 days ago. You were apparently close to death for most of it. How are you a parseltongue?" she snapped the question out at him, perhaps trying to trip him up just like her mother had.

Cute.

"I won it in a raffle."

Dorea's face twisted "What's a 'raffle'? Some sort of ritual?" she asked in a confused voice.

Harry sighed. _Purebloods. _"It's a type of muggle gambling during a large community event."

Dorea just looked more confused "But how would you win a rare magical ability in a muggle event?"

He heavily pulled up his hand to rub the bridge of his nose "I was joking. Or trying to anyway."

"Never heard of 'joking'."

Harry paused, and slowly turned his head over to the girl, who was sporting a shit-eating grin before she broke out laughing at him.

A noise welled out of his throat, and he let out a shaky laugh at the girls antics.

"Not bad Slytherin." he said after she calmed down.

The girl leaned back in the chair pleased with herself "You should have seen your face! Honestly, did you really think I was that stupid?" "Hey, I've met some pretty clueless Purebloods in my time." he defended.

"Hurtful. And you didn't answer my question."

He let the humor drain away. "I can't tell you. Not yet, anyway."

Dorea didn't look pleased, but moved on "What was it like travelling to another reality?" she must have been practicing for this little mock interrogation.

"Aw hell, does everyone know about that?" he exclaimed. She shrugged again "Pretty much. You really gave yourself away when you talked to me." she explained, and Harry rolled his eyes.

That reminded him… "I'm sorry about obviating you, and scaring you like I did." he said as honestly as he could.

Dorea looked away "It's okay. Lets call it even for you saving me from the Purists."

"Deal. And as for my little dimension hop, lets just say I don't want to do it again."

The girl tilted her head at him "You don't seem in a hurry to get back."

Harry laughed hollowly "Nothing to go back to." some of his bitterness seeped in to his tone, and Dorea looked like she wanted to ask something else.

"Look kid, I understand you have a mountain of questions, but I can't tell you much. For my own safety at the moment. I still don't know what your Grandfather intends with me."

Dorea shook her head quickly "He just wants to help you!" she said, clearly wanting to defend the man.

"I don't need any help." he responded on reflex.

Dorea just raised her eyebrows and looked over him, lying prostrate in bed, unable to get up.

_Nice work Potter. Way to sell your point._

"Hey, we all have off days." he defended, annoyed this girl had gotten under his skin.

The dry look she gave him communicated just how little she believed that.

Sleep was calling to him, but he was strong enough to reach carefully over to the bedside table and grab a cup of water.

He drank slowly, making sure not overwhelm his still recovering digestive tract.

"Did I exist in your world?" Dorea asked, and that was probably fine to answer.

"Nope."

"What about my father?" she couldn't disguise the hope in her voice.

"No. My version of Riddle never had any children." he answered, and watched as her face fell.

He felt guilt from having to squash her hope, but couldn't think of anything to say that would make it better.

"I'm going to go back to sleep now kid. You should probably go. No offence, but I don't need to make your mother any madder at me." he explained, sinking back into the mattress.

"Fine. But this conversation isn't over. I'm curious what kind of stories you've got." she said, standing up.

Harry barely shook his head "None of them are happy." he whispered, and he just caught the pitying look the girl shot him before his eyes closed.

**oooOOOooo**

"Breath in… breath out." the healer ordered, and Harry obeyed. The man, who steadfastly refused to give him his name, had been going through a series of tests on him.

He seemed surprised by how quickly Harry was healing. Less than 4 days from the Battle of Caldwell Island (as he referred to it), and he was already ready to get back on his feet.

His magic had fully recovered, and his wandless magic was probably enough to kill both the Healer and Bellatrix if he needed to. But he really wanted his wand and armor back. They seemed to be willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being, and were getting looser around him.

They seemed to like him, though he couldn't figure out why. Bellatrix didn't seem aware of her daughters conversation with him, and the two hadn't interacted since.

After casting a battery of diagnostic charms on him, the healer sighed heavily. "Merlin knows how, but you're healthy enough to walk. Just use a cane and don't be too stupid."

Harry nodded, taking the overly ornate walking stick. It was furnished with silver snakes with emerald eyes. "Good. Now, I thinks it's long past time that I had a word with the master of the house."

The healer gave him an instructable look. "I'll escort you to him. But first put some clothes on. You're meeting a Lord for Merlin's sake," The man said, with a bit of reproach in his voice.

Harry rose from the bed, his muscles stiff. The pain had almost completely abated, though it still felt like he would split in half if he moved too quickly. The Healer sat back, watching as he slowly made his way over to the dresser, making sure not to put too much strain on his body.

He made it to the dresser, and the full length mirror next to him. He twisted, and looked at his body. The wound from the Dark Lords ambush had closed, but had went through his abdomen and out his back. The flesh was puckered up, and still a fresh pink.

It stood out, even among the other scars. He was also surprised by how pale he was. He mostly used lumos charms, which cast a white light, but under the warm sunlight and candles he looked like an inferni.

He reached into the dresser, and his lips twisted slightly.

"There anything in here that isn't embroidered?" he asked sarcastically, looking at the mostly black robes coated with dark green and silver.

"Is there an injury to your eyes as well? Because clearly you can answer that yourself if your sight is undamaged." the Healer snarked at him.

Harry spared him a glare, but grabbed one of the few all black robes. He didn't bother with the internal layers, only throwing on the outermost robe.

Tommy wasn't getting anything past that.

The healer sneered at him, but seemed wise enough to say nothing. He stood, showing Harry his back as he walked swiftly out of the room. Harry followed slowly, silently dreading what was about to happen.

He had no doubt Slytherin would extract a steep price for his aid, and at least his cronies seemed to be relaxed around him. They must have something.

_Alright, here's the plan: chat with Tommy, get back my wand and armor and see if I can get out of here without giving him a pound of flesh._

The Healer led him down through the manor, and he felt a figure shadowing him. Bellatrix.

He didn't call her out on it. No need to let them know his senses were that good.

They reached a drawing room, and the healer opened the door for him. "He is waiting for you."

Sitting in the middle of the room were two high backed chairs, and a small table, and a roaring fire.

He felt Slytherin before he saw him. His magical presence saturated the room, filling it with a dark buzzing.

It wasn't as brutal as Voldemort's, which had been tar black, but it wasn't pure white either. But at least Slytherin lacked the jagged sensation of a ripped and torn soul.

So Slytherin hadn't delved quiet as deep into necromancy and soul magic as Voldy. Harry came around the chair and looked down at the man.

It was somewhat surreal. He had seen the handsome young Riddle, and the older snake like Voldemort, who had come back stripped of humanity.

This version had elements of both. His eyes were still darkened from youth, and there was a touch of cold smoothness to his features, but overall he looked much like he had when he was young.

Handsome, with a knowing grin and only a few slight wrinkles on his face.

"So good of you to come down Harry. Please, have a seat." Slytherin said charmingly. Harry narrowed his eyes, but eased himself into the overstuffed seat. He leaned the cane next to his hand, and made sure his face was wiped clean of any emotion.

"Would you like some tea?"

"No. Before we begin, I have a question. How did you figure out I was from an alternate reality so quickly?" Harry asked, honestly curious. He'd figured it would have taken them a very long time to even consider the possibility.

"Simple, the logical contradictions you displayed in your meeting with Dorea. You knew what Yaxley sounded like, and I know that his voice and magical signature has changed drastically over the years so you must have met him recently. Yet you did not know that I had taken my ancestral name or sired a granddaughter. That information is internationally known. Additionally you appeared from nowhere, with no history or connections. Everyone has some ties to the wider world. And I have kept very close track of all known parseltongues, and you are related to none of them. Finally, you are not the first interdimensional traveller I have encountered."

The last point made Harry sit up in his seat.

Lord Slytherin smirked and went on "A rather remarkable Russian mage I met during my youth, who seemed to know things no one else could know. He was the one who told me of the ritual, and apparently in his world the Statue of Secrecy was broken and war broke out between the Wizards and Muggles. He was in the middle of a ritual and was struck by several curses at once just as the Americans dropped a nuclear bomb on top of them. He woke up in our world, and set about preventing the disaster he had seen in his own. He didn't live through the battle, but in examining the circumstances I was able to figure out how it happened, and the unique magic that it left over."

That was...quite the story. It explained everything neatly. Perhaps too neatly. He had to take anything Tommy said with a mountain of salt, but this wasn't that big of a deal at the moment. He knew, and there was nothing else to be done.

"And what about the spell that the Dark Lord hit me with? Not much that can go through two layers of Basilisk scale."

Slytherin's eyes darkened a little "It was the Tra Grevea. A very rare and ancient spell. Atlantean origin and designed to cripple the victim permanently. You were lucky I found you and knew how to excise the corruption to save you. But the upside is the Purists will think you're out of the way. Now, I have to ask: where did you get the scales from?"

Harry leaned back, refusing to show any remorse. "From the guardian of the Chamber of Secrets. She didn't give me any choice," he reasoned, watching as the Dark Lord looked stormy.

Whatever he thought, it was wiped away swiftly and replaced with a false cheer "Well, you won't have to worry about that here."

"Lets just cut to the chase." Harry said coldly, and Slytherins tilted his head at him, mock confusion in his eyes. "I'm not a fool." Harry said quickly, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"You and Bellatrix saving me was not done out of good will. You want something from me, so tell me what your price is."

Slytherin leaned back in his seat, a smirk curving his face. "You are very direct. That won't help you in politics."

"I have no interest in politics. I prefer direct action."

"I can tell. But to answer your question, you are casting this in very stark terms. I admit I have plans for you, but they will aid you as well I assure you."

Harry cocked an eyebrow "Your assurances have no value to me. Just tell me what you want."

Slytherin sighed, shaking his head. "I want your talents to be used to their full potential, and to be directed to their utmost against our common enemy." he said, clearly trying to placate him.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Specifics Tommy, while I'm young." he snapped, and saw a flicker of annoyance cross the Lord face.

"I do not know what exactly what I have done to offend you, and make you think so little of me, but perhaps you can realize that, as you said, I am not your enemy." Tommy said through his teeth.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I don't believe your intentions are pure, and I have to do what is best for the war effort. I have no interest in becoming your personal attack dog, not when the Purists are still out there. And when this is done, I don't want to owe you anything. Now, if you really want me to reach my full potential, you'll give me my equipment back and not contact me again," Harry snapped harshly.

Tommy broke eye contact and looked over to the wall "Just what did my alternate version do to you?" he asked quietly, and Harry twitched.

"A lot. But in the end, I was the one left standing. Lets just say I'm weary of any version of you having lasting power, and nothing I have seen of you specifically has changed that view."

Lord Slytherin looked at him with pity, and it made Harry want to beat him over the head with the stupid cane he had to use.

Tommy sat up, and held his hands up in mock surrender. "I understand your hesitation, but I think we both know that if I give you what you want you'll be dead before summer ends. The Dark Lord nearly killed you several days ago, and I have no doubt he'll succeed eventually."

Harry twitched again "I disagree. He surprised me, but it won't happen again. He's not the first Dark Lord I've taken on, and I doubt he'll be the last."

Slytherin looked at him, before shaking his head. "You can't believe that. You have been foolhardy in the last few weeks, attacking the Purists wildly. Why haven't you reached out to any of the old versions of your friends and family?"

The urge to violence was growing, but he managed to bite out "They are not my family."

"Perhaps not, but do you think that they would not accept you? Without them, you have no connections. You are alone."

"It's better if I'm alone. No one else to worry about."

The Dark Lord laughed hallowly "You are deluding yourself. It's not about protecting others, it's about your guilt! You don't want to leave anyone behind when you inevitably get yourself killed!"

Harry surged to his feet, ignoring the pain "Do not pretend you can understand what I've suffered! You arrogant bastard, how dare you?! I lost everyone I ever loved, sacrificed all of who I was for NOTHING!" he roared, tears pricking at his eyes.

He wanted to attack Slytherin, to lash out, but his restraint held.

Harry collapsed back into the chair, anger deflating. Slytherin had gotten under his skin, and provoked a response.

A few deep breaths later, he was recentered. He looked back at the Lord, expression neutral. Slytherin was aprising him closely.

"I apologize. It was wrong of me to assume I knew you. Perhaps we should begin again?" the Lord said, tone placating.

It felt like he was on a lab table about to be dissected.

"I don't see why. You have nothing I want. Just give me my things and I'll go." Harry said tiredly. This meeting had drained him already. He had no base, and without those supplies he'd have nothing.

"I have the names of two dozen Purists still in the public sphere, and locations of several new bases they've created since you started hunting them. Additionally, I can offer you more political information, a base of operation and backup should you need it. With your tactical insight, you should know that with my supplies and logistics you'll be more effective," Slytherin offered, and Harry's eyes narrowed.

"And what do you have to gain from sheltering me? It could make you a target, or cause problems for you with the Ministry."

"I'm already a target of the Purists, and you would be surprised how many in the Wizengamot and the DMLE secretly admire you, and your methods. The War was in a standstill until you arrived. All I want is for my Granddaughter to grow up in a peaceful world. And right now, you look to be the only one able to provide it."

Harry would admit the man was charming. He detected no signs of deception in his face, but that meant nothing. Voldemort had been charming too, able to convince many different groups to throw their support behind him. He didn't want to risk elevating Slytherin any higher.

But at the same time, he had already gotten fucked over by the Purists forces alone, and they were starting to curtail him.

Slytherins aid would be valuable. He was enough of a strategist to accept that he had underestimated his enemy. If the Dark Lord had used a killing curse instead of this Tra Grevea, his story would have ended then and there.

Besides, keeping close to the man would mean he could control how powerful Slytherin was when this ended. If this ended. Besides, if Slytherin revealed him it could make his life much more difficult.

In truth, he had never really considered that he would survive this battle. Fighting alone was a good way to get killed. If Bellatrix hadn't showed up when she had, he'd have died a few days ago. Even if he had escaped, he wouldn't have been able to heal the curse.

_Am I really considering this? Making a deal with my worst enemy? _Harry asked himself, staring at the familiar yet unfamiliar man. _He's not Voldemort. I killed Voldemort years ago. Perhaps it's time to let the past be past. _

Besides, where else could he go? The Ministry was useless, and undoubtedly corrupt. Albus might help him, but he would restrict him severely, and hamstring his War effort. He'd be reduced to stunning men, taking them alive so they could break out later.

If Slytherin could simplify the mundane parts of his job, and enable him to keep slaughtering Purists… maybe it could work.

"Speaking hypothetically...if I was to consider any sort of further relationship with your family, I would need certain assurances." he hedged after a few moments of silence.

Slytherin nodded "As I would from you. But I'm sure we can come to an agreement." he said with a smile.

Harry breathed out "Firstly: I need operational autonomy. I pick my targets, my missions, and do it on my own timetable. You aren't my commander, and I don't take orders from you. Secondly: If I should call for help, you will refrain from using too much Dark magic. I don't need Albus getting any more interested in this. By the way, how much does he know?"

Slytherin winced lightly "He knows you're from an alternate reality. Dorea recovered her memories at school, and he would have figured it out eventually. But I agree, he should be kept in the dark."

Harry snarled a little. At least they thought he was connected to Tommy rather than them.

"It'll have to do. Third condition: I work alone, unless calling upon you."

At that, Slytherin shook his head. "I can't agree to that."

"Why not? I'm perfectly capable completing missions without having to drag a bunch of lesser mages around." Harry snarled, not looking forward to having a team again. He buried most of those who'd landed under his command.

"I don't doubt your ability, but that's if everything goes well. If something goes wrong, you'll be alone behind enemy lines as it is. And not a team, just one extremely capable witch." Slytherin soothed, and Harry's brow furrowed.

There was only one person he could be referring to. "Absolutely not. Anyone but her." he said sharply.

A sly grin stretched across Tommy's face "Is there some problem with my daughter in law? She's one of the finest duelists in the country, she'll be a fine partner to you."

Harry shook his head as fast as he could "I don't care how good she is, I won't work with her. Don't you have anyone else?" he pleaded.

This version of Bellatrix might be not be as crazy as the one he had killed, but he hadn't interacted with her enough to be comfortable putting his life in her hands.

In combat trust was paramount, as well as a certain familiarity between the fighters to anticipate actions.

"She is the only option. She's free the whole summer, and if you two are caught by official forces, she is technically a temporary auror and can get you out of trouble."

That brought Harry up short "I didn't know that."

Slytherin nodded, a look of pride on his face "Part of her job at Hogwarts is to protect the children from Purist kidnapping. She's been working with the department for several years now."

Interesting. If the Aurors, including James Potter were willing to work with her she couldn't be totally evil.

"Granted. But what happens when the summer ends? She'll have to go back to Hogwarts."

"We'll settle that when it becomes an issue. The Dark Lord is scared of you, it shows in his attack. He was was willing to throw some of his best troops at you. You're bleeding them dry. With my help, I'm confident the two of you can at very least severely weaken them before other commitments arise."

Harry leaned back, tapping his foot.

Working with Bellatrix would be...challenging. She already seemed rather confrontational with him, and was unlikely to accept his command without trouble.

_Fuck it._

"Fine. I'll work with her, but if we aren't clicking soon I reserve the right to kick her to the curb."

"Agreed. Now, as to my stipulations-" "Hold on. I've got one more." Harry cut the Lord off.

He leaned forward "I want a magical oath that when the Purists are defeated, you and I will part ways with no debts between us. We'll be strangers, and you will do nothing to try and keep me in your circle, understood?"

Slytherin looked like he had expected that, but wasn't happy about it. "That is...acceptable. But I will need a vow from you as well, that you will not intentionally harm any of my family or those in my employ. And that when we do part ways, neither side will seek violence on the other."

Harry leaned back, considering the offer. "Very well, but I want an escape option. I have no intention of being forced to look aside if you turn out to be as dark as the Riddle I killed." he said, trying to remind him that he had beat another version of him. And that version had far more combat experience than this one.

"I think we may need to employ a contract goblin, turn this from a vow to a magically binding contract. Anything else?"

"Bellatrix needs to swear to it as well. Especially if I'm going to be relying on her in any measure." Harry finished. He could deal with this, for the moment. Tommy hadn't asked for anything too severe, though he could already feel a headache from working with Bellatrix.

He'd need to have a long talk with her. Once he had his body armor back.

"Very well. I'll have the goblin leave your name blank. Are you a Lord of anything?" he asked, reaching for the tea set. Harry rolled his shoulders. _In for a penny, in for a pound._

"Yes. Back in my word I was a duel Lord of Potter and Black."

Slytherin stilled, looking at him closely. "My, things must have been bloody for such a distant relative to gain the house."

Harry grimaced. "It was… ahh, well, if we are going to be doing this, I need to show you why I'm so weary of you. Summon Bellatrix, and grab a pensive." he said.

If he was going to work with them, especially Bellatrix, he needed her to not do certain things, especially that fucking baby voice. He was quietly looking forward to seeing their expressions when they saw their doubles.

**oooOOOooo**

Bellatrix had been waiting for Lord Slytherin and Potter to finish up, but was surprised when she was summoned in to meet with them.

She didn't know how to feel about the man. He didn't seem to have much in common with his 'family', other than some of Rose Potter's drive and arrogance. She didn't see any of Lily's morality or James anal retentive nature.

She had watched him while he slept, aware that even without a wand he was dangerous. His body told quiet a tale. He was coated in scars, some she recognized like the melting of acid on his left calf, and some she didn't, like three ropey scars that looked like they were made by claws.

He couldn't be older than 30, but his face had been worn down. Even in sleep his muscles were taut as a wire. The nightmares seemed bad. He thrashed around, moaning in pain and nearly crying at one point.

Entering the drawing room, she could taste the tension between the two men, and saw a pensive sitting between them.

"My past is my own, you understand?" Potter said to both of them "I'm only showing you this so you understand my distaste with working with you, and you get nothing else." he said harshly.

Lord Slytherin nodded, and without a word to her dipped his face into the pensive.

Potter spared her a glance "This isn't going to be pretty." he warned before he went into the memory.

She followed suit, and the three fell through the mist, landing in the middle of brutal scene frozen in time. It had been a seaside village, but no longer. The night was painted in orange and red from the fires that roared in most of the houses.

Bodies littered the street, and angry green and red and black spells hung in the air. She looked around and found a few older versions of students she'd taught. Oliver Wood, Seamus, Ronald and Luna were all dressed in the same armor Harry wore, and looked about 17-19. Around them there were others she recognized, and in the center was a younger version of Harry.

He did look much more like his father back then. Tanned skin, windswept hair, but the expression was just as severe. He was frozen in the middle of a sweep, the street in front of him forming into a wave, shooting towards a figure clad in black robes and white mask. More of them were streaming around, surrounding them.

The current version of Harry walked around, looking at the others with a guilty look on his face. "The second Battle of Plockton. We'd won the first one, but the Death Eaters came back, They always came back. And this time they were determined to win."

The scene flung back into motion, loud and chaotic. Men screamed and died, curses filled the air. Bellatrix ducked insticntivly, and watched as one of Harry's men fell to a killing curse. The past Harry ducked below one of the curses, sending a wave of sharpened knives at the 'Death Eater' (and wasn't that an absurd name) killing him.

He reached down and tapped a galleon tied to the palm of his hand, and the Lights troops began to fall back.

"We'd lost by this point. Nothing to do but evacuate." The present Potter said, not looking at her, just watching with a grimace on his face.

"You were going to hold them off?" Lord Slytherin asked, having to yell over the noise. Potter nodded, wincing as the past Harry was clipped by a cutting hex that didn't breach his armor.

From the mist, she heard a low cackle. Past Potter flinched like he'd been struck, and spun around to where the noise had come from.

"Lestrange." the Present Potter hissed under his breath, layering in a vehement hate.

"Aww, is little Harrykin annoyed?" said a mockingly sweet voice that sounded vaguely unhinged.

Both past and present Potter looked furious, and the past version cast at the source of the voice.

From the dust and smoke, a figure emerged into the wane light.

Despite the warning, Bellatrix wasn't ready.

Lestrange looked horrible, clad in thin torn robes, she looked stick thin. Her exposed forearms were wiry and boney. Her head looked too large on her body. Her eyes swivelled around, too wide. She looked like a corpse.

She let out another horrible giggle, spinning around Potters spells. "Little boy, little boy, just a little boy!" she sung, casting a killing curse at him like it was nothing.

Lord Slytherin got closer, face twisted into distaste. Bellatrix felt like she was going to throw up.

Is this what she would have become? This… creature? There was no sanity in its eyes, just madness. She was...broken.

Also, is that what she sounded like? It made her skin crawl.

Present Potter was staring at her more dispassionately, watching the duel more than the fighters.

They seemed evenly matched, but Potter was getting angrier as his spells kept failing to connect, and she kept taunting him.

Bellatrix hated looking at her.

"How..?" she asked, and Potter heard her over the noise.

"Azkaban mostly." he said, studying her closely. She blanched a bit.

The other Light fighters were all clustered around a point, and seemed to be watching their commander closely while fending off the Death Eaters.

"Awww, you seem angry little boy. Miss your dogfather?" Lestrange asked, smiling unnaturally wide.

Past Harry let out a roar of rage and launched himself at the woman, and Bellatrix thought about what she was saying. Dog father? Did she mean?

"She killed Sirius?" she asked, and Potter winced and nodded.

She'd never loved her cousin, but to kill him? That wasn't something that she had seriously considered.

Before she could ask anything else, there was a low rattling boom, and Lestrange let out a loud cackle.

The Death Eaters pulled back, and a massive conjured snake hurled forward. Potter was able to deflect it away from the Light, and a look of fear crossed his face. With a swirl of black robes, a new figure emerged from the darkness.

She didn't recognize him. He stood tall and thin, with deathly pale skin that was stretched over his skull. Hairless, with a slit nose and thin mouth, and ruby red eyes. He was holding Diggle in magical bonds next to him.

The Light fighters began to panic.

"Lord Voldemort." Present Harry said, and Lord Slytherin gaped like a fish.

_No, it can't be-_

"That's me?!" Lord Slytherin yelled, and she couldn't remember the man ever losing composure. She could see why.

Clearly Voldemort had dived into the darkest recesses of magic.

"Harry, we have to go!" Weasley yelled. Past Potter looked torn, she could see he wanted to throw himself at the two dark mages. Voldemort cast crucio at his prisoner

Potter moved forward, clearly prepared to attack, only for Ron to lung forward and grab him. "WE HAVE TO GO!" he roared, and Harry had to deflect some dark spells.

He looked at the screaming man, and Lestrange laughing at him.

He let out a pained yell, but turned and joined the remainder of his troops, and with a word they vanished.

The memory dissolved around them, onto a backdrop of white mist.

"They sent him back to Hogwarts in 6 boxes." Potter said, watching the two. "Now do you see why I don't trust you?" he asked harshly. Bellatrix nodded faintly, while Lord Slytherin just looked at where the other version of him was, a look of guilt on his face.

The three were unceremoniously thrown out of the pensive, and Bellatrix swayed around.

Potter leaned back in his chair.

"You knew the name." he said calmly to Lord Slytherin.

"I'll admit, I had toyed with the idea, a youthful fantasy of revenge. I haven't thought about it for decades. How, dow did that happen?" he said quietly.

"It's a long story, but to make it short Riddle was never let into high society, and wanted to fight his way in." Harry said neutrally. "Now, are you still insisting we work together?"

Slytherin nodded, seeming to regain his composure "Yes, I am. And remember that I have done nothing to you beyond save your life, as has Bellatrix. Think of this as a fresh start."

Harry snorted inelegantly "I've had a few fresh starts, and none of them stuck. I doubt this one will be any different." he said with melancholy.

With a deep breath, he stood. "I'll be going." he grabbed the cane and made for the door. "Wait." Slytherin said as Harry passed him "Here. A token of my trust." he held up Harry's wand, hidden in his robes

Harry wasn't proud enough to not snatch it out of the Lord's hand, gripping it like a lifeline.

"I'll bring you the contract within a few hours. Best get some rest so the Healer doesn't bite both of our heads off."

Bellatrix waited until he was gone before asking "So he'll work with us?"

"Under some conditions. I'll need to have a contract written up, and you'll need to sign on as well."

"Why?" she asked, somewhat hesitant. So far the only people who knew Harry was here were the family, the Healer and one of the guards.

Lord Slytherin turned his head, eyes guarded "You'll be fighting alongside him."

She stilled. "You didn't think to ask me first?" she bit out, affronted.

"I wasn't sure about him yet. But I think the two of you will work well together, and he needs connection," Lord Slytherin said guiltlessly.

He kept talking "He needs to have an equal, someone to challenge him and his worldview. Don't give him an inch, don't demure. But don't antagonize him either. I believe we can wear him down, and convince him to stay after the Purists are dealt with."

Ignoring how he had brushed off her concerns, she asked "Why is it so important he stays? Why are you willing to bend over backwards for him?"

Slytherin looked back into the fire "Do you trust me?"

Bellatrix grit her teeth, seeing his deflection. It wasn't that she was opposed to taking the fight to the Purists, but to be promised to him without even being asked was insulting.

But, at the end… "Yes my Lord. I trust you." she said quietly.

He nodded once "Good. Then trust me when I tell you that it is vital he remains. I have no doubt that once he gives his word, he will keep it. But he'll be cold to you at first. Additionally, he cannot use the manor as his main base. It's too public, and too well known. The two of you will operate out of your townhouse in London."

Bellatrix was shocked again. She hadn't lived in that home since… and now she was going to move back in with Harry? What exactly did he expect her to do with him?

Her mouth twisted in distaste, but she said nothing against it. The Lord would not bend.

"Very well. I trust you'll look after Dorea?" she said, heart already clenching at being apart from her daughter. "Naturally. And it's not like you're going overseas. You'll be able to come by anytime."

Bellatrix stood gracefully, and gave him a slight bow. _I hope this will be worth all the trouble._


End file.
